


Shadow House

by Fire_Bear



Series: Shadows [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cliche, Friendship, Gen, Horror, Nightmares, Probably a lot of cliches, Repressed Memories, old house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur - who has been having rather strange nightmares - agrees to go on a trip with his college friends. When their cars break down outside of an abandoned house they seek shelter in, things go from bad to worse...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there. This is a Halloween story which has multiple chapters. So I'm starting it now and going to try to write as much as I can before November when I'll be doing NanoWrimo and going on a hiatus. I won't abandon this, though, so... just bear with me.
> 
> Names: Carlito = Cuba; Myriam = Monaco; Mickaela = Seychelles. I looked up popular names in the countries and chose them to be a bit different because why not.
> 
> Also, I know the start of this and how it'll end but, otherwise... making this up as I go along. So, sorry if there's any inconsistencies. ^^"

" _Where are you going?"_

_"On a trip for our birthdays! It's gonna be well cool!"_

_"Yeah! We're going to a '_ haunted' house _!"_

_"Ah! Me too, me too!"_

_"Nah, this is for big kids."_

* * *

" _Wow! It's so big!"_

 _"Pfft! Of course. What haunted house is gonna be_ small _?"_

_"Ah, don't pout, Artie. Just ignore him. Come on. Let's go claim a room!"_

* * *

_"Oh, my God..."_

_"What is it? What's- ARGH!"_

_"Shush, stop. Artie – stop screaming! They'll find us!"_

_"B-But, he's-"_

_"Just shut up, okay? We gotta get outta here or we're next!"_

_"I don't wanna be next!"_

_"Shush. Shush, don't cry. Let's... Let's go somewhere else or he'll never calm down."_

* * *

_"There! You can get out of that, can't you, Artie?"_

_'Artie' looked up at him. He nodded._

_"Good. I'm gonna lift you up so you can crawl through, 'kay?"_

_"'Kay..." said 'Artie' sadly, sniffling slightly._

_Another voice. "Stop that. You can't cry – you're not allowed to."_

_"Why not?" he asked._

_"'Cause you gotta be brave," said the first boy. "You've got to get help."_

_"So when you get through the hole," said the second one, "don't look back. Just run, got it?"_

_"What? But what about you two?" asked 'Artie', eyes wide._

_The boys glanced at each other. Before either of them could respond, there was a noise, a terrifying noise. 'Artie' clutched at his chest. Then, before he could stop them, he was lifted by ---- and shoved at the hole._

_"Go. Go, Artie! Run!_ Run _!"_

* * *

Arthur woke with a gasp, trembling as he tried to calm his beating heart. He'd had the dream again. It wasn't even a proper dream, just fragments of... something. Nobody had ever been able to figure out what it was or where it had come from. For almost as long as he could remember, he had been given therapy for them until he had grown up and decided that, since nothing was helping, he would have to ignore them as best he could.

His bedsheets were clinging to him, stuck by the cold sweat. Disgusted, he threw them off – only to shiver when the autumn air hit him. Grimacing, he sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. He wished he knew why he had the dreams: he wished he knew why they increased in frequency at this time of the year.

That was when he heard a noise. Freezing, he stared around the room, wide-eyed. From the sunlight peeking through the gap in the heavy curtains, he could see that everything was as it should be: cluttered desk from the rush to get his assignments done the night before; wardrobe closed; chest of drawers with the one which was jammed at the bottom; bookcase full; door to his room closed and locked; other side devoid of his roommate. Then he spotted the glow from his bedside table and he relaxed as he realised that it was a song.

As Greenday sang about an American Idiot, Arthur grabbed his mobile phone and swiped at it, dragging the charger cable with it. "What is it?" he sighed into the device, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as if asking someone to give him strength.

"Gooooood morning, starshine! The Earth says hello!" exclaimed Alfred. Arthur could hear the grin in his voice.

"The Earth can go fuck off. It's..." He glanced at his clock and groaned. "It's fucking eight in the morning, Al. What the _fuck_ do you want now?" And, if he hadn't called and woken Arthur, would he have seen more of his dream...?

"What're you doing for Thanksgiving?" Alfred asked, effortlessly ignoring the venom in Arthur's voice.

"Studying. You know I don't celebrate that. I'm going to have the campus mostly to myself so I'll have peace and quiet to get some assignments out of the way."

"So you're not doing anything?"

Trying to suppress a yawn, Arthur rolled his eyes again. "Did you not hear what I just said?"

"Seeing as you're _not doing anything_ ," Alfred continued, blatantly ignoring his friend, "you wanna come on a road trip? Me and some others are going in a coupla cars and we're just gonna pick a direction and drive and see what we find."

"No thank you."

"Aw, c'mon, Artie! You're the last on the list-"

"Last?" Arthur demanded, almost growling in annoyance. "Are you saying that you-"

"No!" cried Alfred, sounding panicked. "I called you last 'cause I knew you'd be super grumpy if I woke you too early- Oh. Er, should I call back later when you're less like Godzilla?"

Eyes narrowed, Arthur glared at the wall, imagining Alfred's sheepish grin. "Alfred, dear," he said, deceptively sweet. "I am going to kill you."

There was a pause. "Is that a yes or a no?"

Arthur hung up.

* * *

"So he convinced you to come as well?" asked Francis as Arthur reached the duo of cars with his backpack of clothes and toiletries.

"Unfortunately... Why are _you_ coming?" Arthur sighed, too tired to put much venom into his words.

Flicking some of his blond hair over his shoulder, Francis grinned at him from over a pair of sunglasses. "I was assured I would seem even more exotic in the country." He winked at Arthur who rolled his eyes in response.

"I see," he said, placing his bag beside a pile of other ones. "Where is everyone, anyway? For that matter, where's Al? And Matthew? That's his car, isn't it?" Arthur nodded at the ageing, second-hand Volvo with the beige colour. Everyone agreed that it looked horrible but Matthew took care of it and it was roomy and cosy inside. Alfred's Ford Mondeo, by contrast, looked shiny and new outside but it was very uncomfortable to be inside with its rather cramped seats and a complete mess over the seats.

"Oui. They are stocking up on supplies before we leave," Francis explained, eyeing the car park to see if their friends were there. The Frenchman pursed his lips when he saw that he was stuck with Arthur, on his own, for a little longer. "Did you hand over your assignments on time?"

"Mmhmm," said Arthur. "You?"

"Oui, of course."

"And I take it you found someone else's place to sleep at last night?" Arthur glanced at Francis sidelong who was gazing in the opposite direction. He was the only one who knew about his nightmares – and not because Arthur had told him. It was unfortunate that they had been forced to share a room as the dreams woke Francis as well, Arthur's shouts frightening him from his bed. His roommate had taken to sleeping at friends or staying the night at one of his 'conquests'.

"I was with Matthieu, celebrating the minor reprieve from schoolwork," Francis admitted. "We may have celebrated a little too much."

"So that's why you look like some sort of half-arsed secret agent?" Arthur ran his eyes over Francis's outfit which consisted of a lilac, v-necked sweater and skinny jeans.

Scowling, Francis pushed the shades up. "I will not allow anyone to see... _Well_."

Movement from across the car park made Arthur glanced up, spotting Alfred bounding towards the car, a defeated Matthew slowly following. Behind him, the tall and beautiful Mickaela and the highly intelligent (and frankly rather scary) Myriam meandered along. Mickaela was yawning openly and, when she had finished, she pouted, obviously upset that Alfred had dragged her from her bed. Myriam looked equally as irritated.

"Hey, guys!" cried Alfred as he reached the two students by the cars.

"Good morning," Arthur replied, eyes narrowed. "And just what has made you so chipper this morning?"

"Friends, good times – it's gonna be awesome!" Alfred grinned at them all. Matthew groaned from beside him.

"Could we just get going?" asked Myriam. "I would like to catch up on my sleep on the ride there. Wherever _there_ is."

"Well, we gotta wait for people."

"Who?" asked Arthur, tilting his head.

"Lovi, Feli and Tonio. Gil and Lud couldn't come – they've got a funeral to attend in Germany somewhere. And Vash wouldn't let Lili come or come himself – something to do with strange people in the country and his job."

"Carl's coming, too," Matthew piped up.

Alfred's bright grin dropped into a scowl. It was so sudden that it shocked Arthur, despite having expected it. "Yeah," he growled. "Only 'cause _you_ invited him or I'd 'ave invited Liz."

"I think Liz was going to Roderich's, anyway, seeing as Gil was going home," Mickaela informed them. "Can I be in Mattie's car?"

"Sure," said Matthew, rather tiredly.

"Yay!" Mickaela picked up her gym bag and hurried to the boot of his car.

"I'm going with her," Myriam declared, hurrying after her.

"So that's three more people to be with me. Who else wants to come?"

Arthur thought about what riding with Alfred meant and spoke up at the same time as Francis. "Me!"

"Moi!"

"Aw, man," moaned Alfred, leaning against his car. The Mondeo sagged with the weight. "Why does no-one wanna ride with me?" Then a thought struck him and he stood straight, eyes wide in alarm. "Wait! I don't wanna have Carl-shito with me!"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Fine. I have one space-"

"Hola!" came a voice from behind Arthur and he turned to spot Antonio arriving with two sleepy Italians.

"Perché abbiamo dovuto alzarsi così presto?" sighed Feliciano, rubbing at his eyes. He was barely holding onto his backpack. Lovino merely grunted in response, trying to suppress a yawn.

"Aw, c'mon guys," said Alfred, pouting a little. "Look a little more lively!"

Everyone but Antonio glared at him. "Sí, do not be so gloomy. It will be fun!"

"We were just sorting out who's going in which car-" Arthur began to explain but he was swiftly cut off by Lovino.

"Feli and I will be in Matthew's car. I don't care about the rest of you."

"Hang on!" snapped Arthur, frowning at him. "We were here first! Besides, there's only one seat left since Carlito is going to be with Matthew – since _someone_ " - he turned his glare on Alfred - "is an idiot."

"It's not my fault he's coming!" Alfred protested, raising his hands in surrender.

Lovino considered this for a second. "Feli goes in Matthew's car. I suppose I'll have to put up with you bastards till we get there."

"Wha-?!" Arthur began but Alfred spoke over him.

"That's cool! The rest of us'll have fun in the _cool_ car."

At that point, Matthew turned and waved. Those who still stood outside the cars turned to watch Carlito approach, his thin coat zipped up against the chill. He was dragging a small suitcase behind him and smoking a cigarette as if that could warm him up.

"Finally," said Alfred. "We can get going now." He made it sound as though they had been waiting for hours and the others looked at each other.

None of them were quite sure why Alfred disliked his cousin's best friend. The three of them had met on the first day of college before anyone had known them and the rest of the international group of friends had never been told the details. Matthew only sighed when asked and said it was Alfred being an idiot. The other two wouldn't speak of it and actively avoided speaking about the other when not in the same room. It was rather exhausting so it was a good thing they were being separated for the journey. Arthur was sure they wouldn't have gotten far before one of them killed the other if that hadn't been the case.

"Sorry," said Carlito to Matthew. "I had difficulty keeping my eyes open. Three assignments, you know?" At that, he sent a pointed glare at Alfred.

"Shall we get going?" asked Francis, obviously trying to prevent a fight. Alfred huffed and opened up the car. Matthew helped Feliciano and Carlito with their bags. Everyone else threw theirs into Alfred's boot before squeezing in. There was a lot of arguing about who sat where but it wasn't long before Arthur found himself squished between Francis and Antonio because, apparently, he was 'small' enough – oh, no, they meant 'thin'.

Arthur was sure _he_ was the one going to be killing someone at this rate.

Meanwhile, Lovino had stretched out on the passenger seat. He had sent a ferocious look at Alfred when he attempted conversation and leaned against the window. They had barely begun to move before his tense body relaxed as he fell asleep, one of his arms dropping from where he had been hugging himself.

"And we're off!" cried Alfred, punching the roof of his car in excitement. He shook his hand as he lowered it back to the gear stick, wincing.

Sighing, Arthur wriggled to try to get more comfortable with grumbling from his neighbours. "Yippee for us," he muttered, rather petulantly.

* * *

They all headed west, stopping occasionally for bathroom breaks, food and whenever they spotted something interesting. Night drew in and Alfred began yawning yet insisted he was fine: Arthur suspected that he was stubbornly holding on for a motel they could sleep in. Francis's head kept bumping Arthur's shoulder as he dozed, waking when Arthur shoved him off. Antonio's head was hitting the window. Lovino was texting his brother and, occasionally, reporting on something happening in the other car. Or, as was becoming more frequent, passing on their questions about where they would stop.

A small crossroads had just flashed by when it happened.

There was a sudden clunking sound from the front of the car which was followed by a repeated clanking. Alfred gripped the wheel tighter as the car began to slow. Not wanting to doom the venture by speaking, Arthur kept quiet. Lovino started to grumble curses: Arthur thought he was cursing Alfred until he held up his phone and began to sweep it around in an arc. Stuck in his seat, Arthur began to get a sinking feeling.

"Fuck," said Alfred. He turned the wheel and made sure it was tucked into the hedge which grew along the road and sheltered the trunks of large trees.

Twisting as much as he could, Arthur saw that the other car had pulled over as well. He contemplated speaking but Alfred seemed stressed enough as it was. The American was slapping the wheel and continuously trying to start the car. That was when Arthur noticed the smoke coming from under the bonnet. He grimaced, leaned forward and pointed at it.

"I think we should get out and take a look..."

Cursing, both Alfred and Lovino threw open their doors and stepped out. Ignoring the wakening Francis and Antonio, Arthur scrambled over the gearbox and out the front, thankful for the limited light from the half moon. Matthew and Mickaela beat him to Alfred's side.

"We don't have any signal on our phones," Mickaela was saying as he reached them.

"And I picked up a flat just as we caught up to you," the other driver added. "I don't have a spare. I mean, that _is_ the spare. I had to put it on this morning, remember?"

"We should've bought one at one of the garages we went past," Arthur pointed out, pursing his lips when he'd finished speaking.

"I didn't want to stop for too long," Matthew admitted, grimacing. Arthur had the feeling that he meant that he hadn't wanted Alfred to whine about the length of time it would be to take out all the bags and put the tyre in. He sighed and Matthew shrugged in response.

By that point, Francis, Antonio and Carlito had joined them. "What's the problem?" asked Carlito, frowning at them as he rubbed his eyes.

"Dodgy engine, flat tyre," Arthur explained quickly. "Does anyone have signal?" Once they had all ascertained (including Feliciano and Myriam who had got out of the car as well) that there was none, Arthur then asked, "Does anyone know where the nearest town is?"

"No," said Matthew, a note of bitterness in his tone. "We were 'just driving', right, Alfred?"

Sheepishly, Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah... But it can't be too far, right?"

"I do not think that walking for who knows how long in the dark is a good idea," said Francis.

"I didn't think to bring a flashlight," Antonio said, sadly.

"Well, we all know whose fault _that_ is," muttered Carlito, just loud enough for Alfred to hear.

"What was that?" he snapped.

"Lads, don't," Arthur warned. Not only did he want to prevent a fight in the middle of the road, he was beginning to get the sense something was wrong. No mobile phone signal, busted engine, burst tyre... What were the chances of all that happening in the exact same place? And why did he have such a strong feeling of foreboding?

"There was a crossroads back there," Feliciano said. "It wasn't too far – maybe it has a signpost?"

"Hey!" called Myriam who had wandered a little way along the road. "There's a gate here!"

Sure enough, a few feet from the cars, almost as though they had meant to be stopped there, was an indent in the hedgerow. Closer to, they could see ivy had grown around the metal bars. It hadn't been closed properly and provided a tantalising glimpse of an overgrown lawn.

Arthur took an unconscious step back, familiar voices running through his head.

_"Look at that plant! What is it?"_

_"That, Artie, is ivy. If people leave a house alone for a while, it grows there."_

_"Why?"_

_"'Cause, silly, the place is_ abandoned _."_

"We should go to the crossroads," he found himself declaring. "There's obviously no-one living here so we won't get any help here."

"Maybe there's an old phone line there," Matthew suggested.

"It won't connect," Arthur insisted. "Nobody will have paid for it for years."

"Hm," said Alfred, looking excited all of a sudden. Arthur's chest felt painful at that look and he could feel the sinking feeling grow stronger. "Why don't you go see what the sign says, Artie, I think I have-?"

"Don't call me that!" Arthur snapped, eyes wide and a little wild. He had never understood his aversion to the nickname but he always felt fearful when he heard it. "And I'm not going to the sign on my own with a torch you _think_ you have. It'll likely run out of battery before I get halfway there and then what'll I do?"

Alfred shrugged a shoulder. "Well, you could always come exploring with us. Right, guys?"

There was a murmur of interest. A few of them nodded. Myriam piped up: "We might find beds we can use."

"Yeah," said Matthew. "We could rest here for the night and then find help tomorrow when it's light out."

As everyone agreed, Alfred grinned. "That settles it," he said and reached for the gate.

"No! Wait!" cried Arthur, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. "Don't go in there!"

All eyes were on him. Alfred frowned at him. "Why not?"

"We... We could get into trouble! This is trespassing, you know!"

"Dude, no-one's gonna come out here and no-one's gonna care. Besides, I'm sure they'll let us off if we explain."

"But..."

"Don't be such a scaredy-cat," said Francis, smirking at Arthur.

"I-!" began Arthur but realised it was true. But what was he scared of?

"Come on," said Alfred and pushed open the gate. It creaked on rusty hinges and stopped before it was fully open. The gathering filtered through the gap, chattering to each other. Reluctantly, Arthur approached the opening and, after another moment's hesitation, entered the grounds.

Hidden from the road by the tall hedges and trees was a large house, at least three storeys in height. Three windows were on each side of the aged front door with extra wings jutting out to the side. A driveway looped around from the back of the house and combined with a courtyard within which a cracked, dry fountain resided. The statue's arms and head had fallen off but, oddly enough, were nowhere in sight. Flowers had spread from their flowerbeds and the grass was so tall that it reached Arthur's thighs. Ivy crawled up the side of the house. All of the windows were intact but shrouded in a darkness which seemed to Arthur to spread across the walls and out into the air surrounding the building. He had the feeling the shadows were reaching for him and found his gaze darting around to make sure that was not the case.

A sudden memory hit him, causing him to gasp. He almost stepped back as he found himself staring at a taller, thinner building. It was surrounded by moors and there were children racing about in its abandoned gardens. Some adults were speaking by the door. Just as he grasped at it, trying to reach for the explanation, a hand touched his elbow. Managing only to gasp in shock, Arthur jerked away and blinked at Matthew who stared back at him.

"Are you all right?" asked his friend.

"Y-Yes..." said Arthur, reluctantly. The feeling of being watched had intensified and the memory of the dream had unsettled him. Why did this feel like déjà vu?

"Ha!" shouted Alfred from the front door. "It's not locked!"

Before Arthur could say anything, before he could stop it, Alfred turned the handle and tugged the door fully open. The others nervously went inside, giggling as they did so. However, seeing Arthur frozen where he stood, Matthew stayed behind.

"What's wrong?"

"We shouldn't be doing this..." Arthur whispered.

"Well... we'll be left here if we don't go in," Matthew pointed out, shrugging.

And, somehow, that seemed worse to Arthur. Nodding, he followed Matthew along the barely-there path, up the creaking steps and into the house. Candles flickered; Carlito was waiting for them and waved a box of matches in greeting. Apparently, they had found the candelabras as they entered along with the matches. It was almost as if the house wanted them to be able to see whatever it had in store for them.

"Where did they go?" asked Arthur, hurriedly, feeling a sudden urgency.

"All over," Carlito explain, shrugging a shoulder. He turned and began to lead the way across the cracked tiles; the hall was large and provided four paths. They could either go left, right, up the stairs or along a corridor to what appeared to be the way to the basement. Arthur shuddered as he spotted that.

Just as Arthur placed a foot on the bottom stair to follow Matthew and Carlito, there was a loud bang from behind him. Jumping, he spun and slipped, landing on awkwardly on the stairs. However, the pain in his tail bone was nothing compared to the horror of seeing the large, heavy front door firmly closed.


	2. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The deaths start here. Sorry...

“ _I'm not sure I like it here...” said 'Artie', frowning at a mirror which sat in their room._

_“Are you scared?” teased ----._

_“No!” exclaimed 'Artie', even though he was. He could feel that something was off about the house and he was sure he had seen something moving out of the corner of his eye. When he had turned, he found himself looking at a potted plant._

_“Don't be mean to 'Artie',” ------ said. “Let's go see the garden, huh, Artie?”_

_Relieved to be getting out of the house, 'Artie' nodded. “Can we play a game?”_

_“Of course.”_

_They wandered back down the stairs. Everyone seemed to be too busy settling in to pay them much attention. In fact, they didn't see anyone along their path; everything was still till they were halfway down the main stairs. Then the door slammed shut in front of their very eyes. No-one was visibly there..._

* * *

 

At first, Arthur wasn't sure what he should do. After all, he was perfectly aware that no amount of force would open any of the outer doors. He was certain of that fact. Should he find something to smash a window?

“Woah,” said Carlito from above him. Arthur started – he had forgotten his friends were with him. Carlito stepped down and helped Arthur to his feet, all the time staring at the door. “Was it the wind?”

“What wind?” breathed Matthew.

That seemed to give Carlito pause and the student frowned. “Maybe there were...?” He trailed off, obviously realising that there wasn't any other conceivable explanation except for one he likely didn't want to admit.

“We shouldn't be here,” Arthur whispered, voice barely audible.

“Yeah...” Matthew agreed. He opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a shout from the top of the stairs. It made Arthur's heart stop for a second before he realised that it was only Alfred, back to investigate the noise. He was thankful nothing else was wrong... yet.

“What happened?” the American called, meandering down the steps. Francis was following him.

“The door closed,” Carlito explained, for once not antagonising Alfred.

“What d'ya mean? Who closed it?”

“That's... No-one,” Matthew said, looking worried.

“Huh?”

“For God's sake!” snapped Arthur, feeling too stressed to let the roundabout way of providing information continue. “It slammed shut itself!”

Alfred stared at him, eyes slowly widening. “W-What? L-Like... a... Like in a-?”

“-horror movie?” Francis provided, looking just as wary.

“Yes. We need to leave,” insisted Arthur. “Now. I told you not to come in here.”

“Yeah...” said Alfred, slowly, staring the door. “Yeah, sounds like a plan- Wait.” Alfred frowned suddenly. “How did you know about it before we came in? Have you been here before?”

“Of course not!” scoffed Arthur. “You know fine well I haven't been this far from the East Coast.”

“We should find everyone,” Matthew piped up.

“Hey,” said a voice from their lower group's right. Everyone turned to find Mickaela and Myriam walking out of the dark corridor there, their candelabra providing more light. “What's going on?” Mickaela asked as she made her way over.

They explained what had happened once more. This time, however, Myriam seemed sceptical. “Are you sure you did not just swing it closed behind you and it took a moment to do so?”

“None of us touched the door,” Arthur told her, feeling a rising frustration creeping up on him. Why wouldn't anyone listen to him? Had all of them forgotten every horror movie they'd ever seen?

At that point, Feliciano, Lovino and Antonio reappeared from the left and everyone began to discuss the door and whether it meant anything. Arthur scowled as they argued, aware of an urgency to take action. Francis must have seen something in his face for he sidled over and dragged him to the side. “Why  _did_ you try to stop us coming in?”

“It was just a feeling.”

Francis scrutinised him, Arthur glaring back at him. “You are tense. What is it you are not telling us?”

“Nothing!” Arthur hissed at him, wishing he would stop his interrogation. “It's- Nothing.”

“ _Quoi_ ?” Francis pressed.

Sighing, Arthur gave in. “It's just... those dreams. I'm... remembering more of them.”

“What happens in them? You have only told me of the voices.”

“I still don't know their names but we were in a house rather like this one. It was said to be haunted and the door slammed shut, too. Something horrible happened after we couldn't get out but... I don't know what.” Arthur grimaced. “I hope they weren't premonitions.”

“Do they feel like premonitions?” asked Francis, frowning in worry.

Arthur paused. “I... No. It's... It's more like it's already happened. But it's happening again, now. We need to get out of here.” He turned to look at the others who had decided to try the door. Alfred was having difficulty and he was looking increasingly more panicked. “You can't tell them,” Arthur told Francis, turning back at him. “If they know... I can't... I don't think I can deal with the questions or the accusations, especially since I don't have the information.”

“I won't tell a soul,” Francis promised. Arthur believed him – as far as he was aware, he had never told anyone about his dreams before. Which was odd, since they often argued. Perhaps he had misjudged the Frenchman... “But, if you remember anything else or have any more dreams, come talk to me about them. You should not have to deal with them alone.”

Shrugging, Arthur considered telling him about the therapist he had had in England. He didn't remember why he had been taken to the psychologist but he remembered the conversations about his dreams and life. “Let's find out what they've decided,” he said instead, not willing to share something so personal to someone he had only known for a few months. He made his way over to everyone else.

The group appeared to be in two minds: the tired ones thought that staying in a room together until dawn when, surely, whatever was keeping them there would let them go was the best bet. Others thought that they should look for a way out. Maybe there was a key. Arthur snorted when he heard that: he doubted that it would be so simple.

“No,” he told them. “We  _have_ to get out of here. I mean, how much of this place have you explored? Have you been in all the rooms?” When they shook their heads, Arthur spread his hands. “There could be squatters here. People who want us gone and could... Well. Even if we decide to stay, we at least need to have an exit.”

“That's true,” said Matthew, nodding.

Myriam seemed to agree, to a point. “If there is a fire, we would need to get out. But I do think we should stay. It is unlikely anyone is here and there is no such things as ghosts but it is smart to have an exit.”

“So what do we do?” asked Alfred.

“I-” began Arthur but he was interrupted by a crashing noise coming from their right. Everyone froze, listening. It came again and once more before Arthur realised what it was. “That's... Those are footsteps,” he whispered, glancing around at them all.

Wavering in her resolve and her conviction, Myriam said, “They don't sound like footsteps... More like metal pots and pans falling.”

“Whatever it is,” said Carlito, shifting away from the corridor slightly, “it's coming this way.”

Indeed, the crashing noise was getting louder. Their eyes widened, unsure as to what would happen if whatever it was reached them. “Shit,” said Alfred, looking quite pale in the candlelight.

“We can't stay here,” whispered Arthur, eyes darting around to take in the shadows dancing around them. It was unsettling now that he could see them. He had the feeling that they could see him, too.

“Let's go upstairs,” suggested Mickaela. “We can hide in a room, lock the door, and figure out a way out of here.”

Arthur didn't want to go further into the house – that felt like trapping themselves even more – but he needed to get away from there before whatever it was reached them. So he found himself reluctantly following Mickaela as she strode up the stairs, ignoring the arguments. She seemed to have decided that they wouldn't be able to make a decision in time so took things in hand.

At the top of the stairs was a wide hallway which lasted a few feet before merging with a long corridor. They couldn't see the end of either side but, presumably, there were more stairs to get to the top floor somewhere along it. Holding his candelabra high, Carlito took over leading the way, moving past fallen tables and broken pottery. Arthur spotted a few pictures hanging on the walls but he didn't look too closely: he didn't want to see the faces in case there was something wrong there, too.

Going through the first door they came to, Carlito managed to choose what looked to be a guest room. There was barely any furniture – just a bed with stale sheets, a wardrobe which reached the ceiling and a desk. A door on the other side of the room was revealed by Matthew to be an en suite bathroom devoid of any items usually required. Francis helped Alfred to open the wardrobe but there was nothing there, either, except for two folded blankets.

“Has the door got a lock?” asked Myriam.

Taking it upon himself to do  _something_ , Arthur closed the door and, in the candlelight, found that they were in luck. A small key stuck out of the door. “Looks like it,” he said and turned it. The lock squeaked from disuse and it took a lot more strength than normal to turn. Turning back to the room, he asked, “What now?”

“Well, we're safe from whatever the pots-and-pans footsteps are,” said Mickaela. “We've got a bathroom and it's pretty late. We should be able to wait out the night. Right?”

Myriam nodded. “I think so.”

“I'd rather we just get out of here,” said Arthur.

“And then what?” demanded Lovino, scowling at him. “We have nowhere to go.”

“We can just sleep in the cars.”

Lovino snorted. “What good will that do? Whoever's doing this will probably come out and...” He shuddered and Feliciano whimpered beside him.

“I agree with Arthur,” Francis piped up. Arthur wondered if he was saying so for his benefit or whether Francis genuinely felt uneasy in the house.

“That's a first,” Alfred commented. “You two barely agree on which toothpaste is the best.”

“If they're agreeing, the world must be ending,” said Matthew, grinning at the group. Everyone bar Arthur, Francis and Lovino laughed. The Italian was busy peering around the room.

“Hey,” he snapped, his eyes continuing to dart around. “Where's Antonio?”

They all froze before glancing around and counting heads. Nine. Arthur rushed to the toilet, a heavy feeling in his stomach. A rush of nausea enveloped him as he looked into the small, empty room; it was as though he knew what was coming even though he had no way of truly knowing. He turned back to them and shook his head. “He's not here,” he told them, quietly.

There was a brief pause. “M-Maybe he found a way out?” suggested Feliciano, timidly.

“Or he went exploring and will turn up soon...?” Francis whispered, looking rather alarmed at his best friend's absence.

Another memory flashed into Arthur's head, a memory of shadows and rapid movement. It was vague but it made him shake his head. “I don't think Antonio willingly left Lovino's side...” After all, everyone knew how Antonio felt about Lovino, despite the Italian's resistance.

Silence fell for a few seconds. “We... We need to go look for him, don't we?” said Alfred, not looking too happy about it.

“Yes,” said Arthur, an overwhelming sadness sweeping through him. “But I don't think we want to find him...”

* * *

 

They set off as a group after an argument about whether they should split up or not. Myriam still seemed sceptical of the danger and thought that it would be quicker to search several areas simultaneously. Alfred agreed but only because he wanted to be the one to quote Scooby-Doo. Eventually, Francis had pointed out that the whole reason they were leaving the room was because someone had broken off from the group – if they separated, they could all lose each other.

Since everyone's last memories of Antonio's whereabouts were in the foyer before they walked upstairs, that was where they headed. No-one was keen to go in front but they had soon organised themselves so that Carlito and a candelabra was upfront, Lovino was at one side with another, Mickaela insisted on not giving up hers and Alfred brought up the rear, his shaking hand making the shadows behind them joyfully leap around in a jig. It was mostly silent, only the occasional squeaking floorboard to mark their passage and the rustle of their clothes.

Arthur was in the middle of the group, hidden behind the taller figures of Matthew and Francis and walking so close that he ended up the last to see it.

The light from Carlito's candle lit up something halfway down the stairs. He stopped suddenly causing a shuffling behind him as everyone else tried to stop themselves from falling into each other. Arthur cursed, glancing down to make sure he didn't step on his friends' heels. Before he looked up again, to find out what had stopped Carlito, Arthur realised something was wrong.

Lovino wasn't swearing at the interruption.

And when he finally caught sight of what was wrong, his eyes widened at the horror and the terrifying familiarity – though he couldn't remember why. Hanging from a hook attached to the aged chandelier by an ankle was Antonio. Something had slashed his chest, perhaps plunging into his heart to kill him, the ripped strands of his shirt doing nothing to cover his muscles. Blood was still dripping from his tanned hands, the noise filling the shocked silence. His eyes were, mercifully, closed but his mouth hung open as if in a silent scream.

Someone – or something – giggled and broke the spell.

To Arthur's left, Lovino yelled and rushed forward, reaching for the Spaniard. Arthur knew there was no way to save him but Lovino appeared to be trying to lift him, stop the bleeding, _something_. In the same instant, the girls screamed and Mickaela dropped her candelabra as she clasped her hands to her mouth as if she was trying to keep her horror in. Feliciano whimpered and began to cry. From behind him, Arthur heard Alfred whisper, “Oh, my God...” The others seemed frozen, unsure of what they were seeing or how to react.

“Fucking _help me_!” cried Lovino which prompted Matthew, Francis and Carlito to surge forward and lift him so Lovino could try to remove the bloodied hook. It only took a few seconds of them playing hero to encourage Alfred to hurry forward as well, handing off his candelabra to Feliciano who, with nothing to do, held it aloft so they could see better. Myriam and Mickaela huddled together, trembling.

Meanwhile, Arthur could only stare. Where on Earth could he have seen anything so horrible before? He searched his memories and, when it hit him, it was so painful that he screamed, clutching at his head and his heart. Everything went dark and he felt a sensation of falling before he succumbed completely.

* * *

 

_There was a scream from upstairs and the boys looked at each other, shocked. Without wasting another second, they turned and rushed towards the sound, hearing the others in their party also running. They followed ----'s mum for the last part of the journey, into a large, ornate bathroom._

_A brass bathtub with curling feet sat in the middle of the room. Cabinets at the side had obviously housed towels and things for washing. Old tiles on the floor and walls were dusty with disuse. Apart from this, Mr. ------- was hanging by his ankle from the centre of the ceiling, above the bath. Something red dripped from his hands. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open, as if, 'Artie' thought, he was about to shout at them for slamming the front door._

_\---- and ------ gasped. ----'s mother put her hands to her mouth, wide-eyed. 'Artie' looked between them, wondering what was going on. So he decided to ask: “Why's he hanging there? What's that red stuff?”_

_“Oh, God,” murmured ----'s mum, turning to look at them. There was a strange, wild look in her eye, rather like when children at 'Artie's school knew they were about to get caught for doing something naughty. He wondered if Mr. ------- had done something bad. She fixed her gaze on her son. “Jack. Get Arthur out of here._ Now _.”_

_“But, Mum,” Jack breathed, still staring at Mr. -------._

_“No buts!”_

_“We can't get outside,” said O-----._

_“What?”_

_“The door... it's locked,” breathed the boy._

_“What's going on?” asked 'Artie', confused._

_“He's dead!” Jack tried to snap at him – it came out choked._

_Everything fell into place for 'Artie'; he had seen films and TV programmes before where people had died. Now he knew the red, dripping liquid was blood. Now he could realise the horror of the man's position._

_He screamed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather short. Sorry. It's only short because, well, there were way too many characters so I decided to, er, get rid of one. ^^" It shortened the chapter a bit more than I expected. Ah, well. Sorry Antonio. I love you really. (I mean, not as much as other characters but you get what I mean.)
> 
> Also, I really should stop knocking characters out in stories... :I


	3. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: rather bad humour. Also...
> 
> WARNING: There's another death in this one. I'm just picking them off here. Unfortunately, the body... is rather grotesque... If you don't like gory or grisly scenes you probably shouldn't a) be reading this and b) if you are gonna read it, you shouldn't read the last few paragraphs... I don't think it warrants an Explicit rating but if you think it should, please let me know?

Arthur woke in an unfamiliar room, lying on an unfamiliar bed. He blinked up at the cracked ceiling, trying to gather his wits. Had what he seen been real or was it all part of some long nightmare? Whatever the answer, he didn't sit up until he heard the sobbing.

It seemed that he had been carried to a different room where the group had decided to stay for the moment. This one was similar to the other except that there were two beds. One he was sitting on; the other had everyone surrounding it. He didn't want to go look but he forced himself to his feet to peer over Myriam's shoulder. Sure enough, the dead Antonio had been laid out. Lovino sat on a chair by his side, clutching at the Spaniard's limp hand. Feliciano had gotten the only other chair in the room and was sitting close to his brother, obviously trying to comfort him while sobbing himself. Mickaela and Myriam were crying as well but the others were stoically paying their respects with bowed heads.

Francis, however, spotted that Arthur had stood. "Ah. You are awake."

"Yes," he replied, not liking the way everyone turned to look at him. "How long-?"

"Only a few minutes. You were... thrashing. It was hard to carry you back up the stairs."

"What the fuck was your problem?" demanded Lovino, glowering at Arthur.

Looking away, Arthur shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I don't know."

"You fainted, Arthur," said Myriam, softly. She looked up at him with worried eyes, her glasses mucky from the tears. "Are you sure you're well enough to be up and about?"

"I'm fine," he insisted, trying not to catch anyone's eye.

There was a short silence. "You were having another nightmare, weren't you?" asked Francis.

At his words, Arthur jerked his head up to stare at him in shock. He had _promised_! He wasn't supposed to _tell_ anyone! His eyes narrowed as he growled at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You called out," said Alfred, shrugging and drawing Arthur's attention. "Who's Jack?"

"I- That's- It doesn't matter."

"But it doesn't make sense," said Mickaela, tilting her head a little. She paused to wipe at her eyes before turning to Arthur fully. "Why would you be dreaming about someone else when Anto-? When... well..."

"When Antonio's been murdered," said Lovino, bluntly. Everyone looked at him, each of them looking awkward. Arthur couldn't bring himself to meet the man's hard gaze. "There's something you're not telling us," he continued. "Explain."

Again, silence fell. Arthur considered his options and then decided that it wasn't worth denying. But that didn't mean he couldn't put off a full explanation... "It doesn't matter just now, really. It's about something completely different. Let's just get out of here and then we can sit around and chat."

"He's right," said Matthew and Arthur felt a rush of relief and gratitude. "We need to get out of here before anyone else is hurt."

"How, though?" Mickaela asked, frowning. "The door won't open."

"We'll smash a window," Arthur piped up. "We just need to find something to do it with..."

"The candle holders?" suggested Carlito, holding one up in demonstration.

"Yes, that should do it," said Arthur, smiling slightly. "Let's go-"

"No," said Lovino, so suddenly that Alfred and Mickaela started in surprise.

"What do you mean, Lovi?" asked Feliciano who had finally managed to stop crying. "We can get out of here now."

"Not without Antonio."

Everyone quietened at that, gazing at Lovino's grip on Antonio's hand. Arthur bit his lip, feeling awful. For some reason, he felt that it was fault that this had happened. Was there a way to make amends? Spotting Lovino's thunderous expression, he doubted it. But he had to convince Lovino to come with them. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if they left Lovino behind.

"We could make a stretcher," Francis suggested, looking around.

"With what?" snapped Arthur, still irritated at him and feeling his stress levels rising as he realised what that would mean: searching for materials and prolonging their stay.

"The curtain rail?" suggested Myriam. She gestured across the room to the window above which was, indeed, a bare curtain rail. The problem, in Arthur's eyes, was that there was only one of them.

"We..." began Matthew before he paused to take a deep breath. "Someone needs to go find another one, don't they?"

It went quiet. Finally, Carlito nodded. "Yeah. This room has a lock so some of us should wait here with Antonio and the others should go find another rail. I volunteer."

"Ah, no! I wanna go!" exclaimed Alfred. "I'm gonna be the hero this time!"

"Ha! I doubt you'll be able to get out of the door before running for the hills. Matt's told me all about your fear of ghosts!"

" _Mattie_!" Alfred cried, turning to his cousin with a betrayed expression.

"Oh, hush," sighed Matthew. "It doesn't matter right now, anyway."

"Fine..."

"If you two are going, though, I had better go so you don't argue the whole way."

"I want to come, too!" cried Feliciano suddenly, standing up. Beside him, Lovino's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak. Feliciano was too quick for him, though, and the younger twin turned to him, determination in his stance. "Antonio's my friend, too. I want to help."

"Non essere stupida!" snapped Lovino, almost growling. "È troppo pericoloso! Io non ti lascerò fare questo!"

"Per favore, fratello. Hai bisogno di rimanere qui, con Antonio."

There was a pause, both brothers staring at each other, both equally determined. Finally, Lovino relented. "Fine," he said, turning back to Antonio. He made sure that Feliciano wasn't in his line of sight as his brother rounded the bed to join the other three.

"I'm going too," declared Arthur.

"What?" said Francis, taking a step in his direction despite being too far away to actually stop him. "But- You-! You can't do that – you've only just woken up. What if you pass out again?"

Arthur was surprised at the concern but he supposed that, with one of his best friends dead, Francis was worried about the rest of them. He shook his head at Francis. "I won't. I'll be fine."

"You don't know that."

Sighing, Arthur rolled his eyes. "Look, if I feel funny, I'll come right back. And we won't be going far, right? Just to the next room."

"Right," agreed Alfred, nodding firmly.

"Besides," added Arthur, hoping to distract the Frenchman, "you have the more difficult job. You have to protect these three." He gestured at Lovino, Mickaela and Myriam.

"Non. I am coming with you," said Francis. "You will need all the help you can get."

"There are five of us going already. We don't need you. You need to stay here."

"Mais-!"

"Francis," whispered Myriam, still looking quite shaken. "S'il vous plait..."

For a moment, Francis stayed frozen, looking tense. Then he deflated with a sigh. "Fine. I shall stay here. But if you're not back in ten minutes, I'm coming to find you."

"Not on your own," Arthur protested, looking at Francis seriously.

"Not on my own," he agreed, rather reluctantly.

"Well, since that's sorted out," said Carlito, "let's get going."

* * *

This time, they had only two of the four candelabras. Arthur and Feliciano had been delegated with holding them: Alfred, Matthew and Carlito would need their hands free for pulling off a curtain rail since they were taller and stronger. They edged out of the room and, cautiously, moved to their right, away from the stairs. When they reached the first door, Arthur shouldered his way forward and pushed his way in, holding the light high to peer inside.

The room appeared to be an office. A desk took up much of the room and there were rusting filing cabinets scattered around the edges of the room. Faded paper littered the floor and Arthur frowned down at them. Nothing else seemed to be there and there was nowhere to hide. The window was covered by a heavy, dark curtain attached to a sturdy rail. Shadows flickered around the edges of the light and Arthur suppressed an urge to shudder upon spotting them.

"It's clear," he murmured, echoing years of American cop shows and movies. He stepped out of the way and watched as the others filed in. After he had counted that all four of them were safe and sound, he moved to the centre of the room to provide them with his light. Feliciano, meanwhile, moved closer so that the others could see what they were doing, huddled as they were around the window.

"Hey!" said Alfred, peering past the curtain. "I can see outside!"

"Really?" Matthew asked, ducking under as well. "Maybe we'll be able to get out of here, then."

"Yeah! I mean, it's like we're in a separate... I dunno... dimension or something. I thought it'd just be black outside or maybe white."

"Don't be daft," sighed Arthur, rolling his eyes. "It's a haunted house – not a fucking TARDIS or whatever else you're hinting at."

"The TARDIS is a separate dimension?" asked Matthew, frowning at the two of them.

Arthur sighed. "Yes."

"Oh. Huh. That explains a lot."

"As much as I enjoy talking about science fiction shows with no plot," said Carlito, causing Arthur to bristle, "I think we should do what we came for."

"Jeez, all right, fun-sucker," Alfred muttered, rolling his eyes. "You get that end, 'kay?"

As they began to tug on the wooden bar, Arthur watched, feeling himself calm a little. It wouldn't be long before they would have a stretcher and all of them could get out. He gave a little sigh of contentment and let his gaze fall to the flames in his hand. Watching them flicker and dance, he began to relax even further.

" _Artie..._ "

Gasping, Arthur whirled around, the candles almost extinguishing from the rapid movement. They grew tall once he had stopped before settling down and, once he had blinked the after-images of the light from his eyes, he glanced around to see where the voice had come from. His gaze locked onto something standing in the doorway.

Whatever it was, all he could see of it was a tall, broad shadow. His breath caught as he felt eyes on him and a strange urge to walk forward and follow them. The shadow stepped back slightly and he found himself slowly making his way towards it. Once he was only a few feet from the door, the shadow turned and began to walk along the corridor, back in the direction of the others. Arthur took another step towards it.

A loud bang from behind him broke the spell and, eyes wide in horror, Arthur darted forward. No longer able to see the shadow, he grabbed for the door, missed it, caught hold of it and slammed it shut. With his free hand, he felt for the lock but there was no key and no way to lock it. Hurriedly setting the candelabra on the top of a filing cabinet (where it spun and swayed from the force he had used), he pushed hard against the door in a futile hope that whatever it was couldn't come in.

"Artie?" he heard Alfred say. "What's wrong?"

"Don't call me that!" Arthur snapped, feeling uneasy upon hearing the nickname. "And... Just-! There was something there! And I can't lock the fucking door!" The handle rattled. "Shit! Hurry _up_!"

"Fuck," someone murmured and he heard several grunts as they redoubled their efforts. A whimper came from Feliciano and the shadows began to shift wildly as Feliciano trembled.

The movement from the door ceased and Arthur tensed, wondering what was going to happen next. Then, slowly, like treacle, a black spot appeared on the door. It spread, becoming bigger until it was as big as a football. That was when it began to peel from the wood, morphing into a sphere.

With rising horror, Arthur realised that the thing was trying to come through.

Yelling in shock and fear, Arthur leapt back and glanced around for a weapon or something to push it back. Touching it with his own hands was out of the question – who knew what would happen? Spotting the abandoned candelabra, he grabbed it and swiped at the darkness. There was a hiss and the shadow instantly dissipated.

Arthur didn't believe that it was gone completely.

"Fuck, Arthur," said Alfred from right behind him, startling him so much that he spun, makeshift weapon raised. The American blinked and stepped back; he appeared to be shocked and scared. "Are you all right?" he asked once Arthur had relaxed a little.

"Yeah. It. Just." He took a deep breath so he could speak. "It tried to walk through the door..."

"Shit. What do we do now?"

"We need to check on the others," said Matthew, eyes wide. Carlito nodded in agreement.

Nodding as well, Arthur turned to the door. "Let's go."

All of them crowded around the door and Arthur looked at them. Carlito was holding onto the curtain rail whilst Matthew had gathered up the curtain itself. Holding it as a weapon, the burlier of the two nodded at Arthur and, with one last answering nod, Arthur grasped the handle and slowly pulled it open.

The door creaked.

When it was finally fully open, they all peered out. Nothing was visible so Arthur stepped out, Carlito quickly following him. The Brit looked both ways but, beyond the circle of light from the candelabra, nothing could be seen. He shrugged. "Looks like the coast's clear," he murmured. "Come on." With a confidence he didn't entirely feel, he began to lead them back to their designated room.

They had barely gone a few steps before the shadow appeared. It stood in front of their destination, facing them. Arthur could feel it staring at him. Fighting down a whimper, he stopped and took a step back, bumping into Carlito who almost fell over him. There was a shuffling as everyone jolted to a stop. Arthur heard someone's intake of breath but whatever it was they were going to say was choked off as they spotted what Arthur had seen.

"Fuck," said Carlito. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

"Well-" Arthur began but he stopped when he heard a clang and retreating footsteps. Surprised, he instinctively turned around, forgetting for the moment the danger they were in. With the light he held he could just see the dropped candelabra, one of the candles slowly rolling towards the wall. Beyond it was Feliciano's retreating form, the thin scarf he had been using as a belt floating along with him. He had barely registered the situation when he felt a rush of air pass him and, when he managed to glance behind him, he noted that the shadow had disappeared.

"Shit!" cried Alfred.

"Feli!" Arthur shouted. He wanted to rush after him but he was trapped by the shocked group who blocked the corridor. So he raised his voice and, as loud as he could, shouted once more. "Feli! Come back! It's not safe!"

"We needta go after him!" Alfred declared and, at last, they moved, rushing along the corridor.

"Feli!" Matthew called. "Feli, come back!"

"Fel-!" began Arthur but he was cut off by a blood-curdling scream. The four of them stumbled to a stop in time to hear a second one much more clearly. A third made Arthur shakily raise a hand to his mouth, his eyes already wide. "Oh, God, no... Feliciano..." The screaming continued and, screwing his eyes shut, Arthur turned away so that his back was to the situation.

"What... What are they doing to him to make him scream like that...?" Alfred asked, sounding rather faint.

"Whatever it is," said Carlito, his tone firm, "they'll do it to us if we don't get back to the room."

"But what about Feli?" Matthew protested.

"You can hear him. He's not-" Carlito broke off as the screams suddenly cut off. Arthur bit his lip so hard he could taste blood: he refused to whimper in fear and despair. "He's not coming back," said Carlito, his voice wavering a little as he lowered his own volume. "We need to get back to the others. When we get outta here, we can come back for him with the cops or something."

"I don't think the police can do anything," said Arthur, hoarsely.

"But you agree about going back to the room?" Carlito prompted, his large hand landing on Arthur's arm.

Arthur nodded. "You... You saw what happened with Antonio."

"Yeah. And we can't have _you_ fainting on us again."

Reluctantly, they turned back around and made their way to the door. Arthur half-expected to find the shadow back where it had been before but all they found on their return was the discarded and cooling candelabra. Matthew lifted it and they all paused as he used Arthur's to light it again. Then they went to the door and knocked.

"Who is it?" called Francis.

"Us," Arthur replied, shortly.

"'Us' would be...?"

"Fucking hell, Francis, let us the fuck in!" he snapped, glaring at the door. He didn't want to deal with Francis's refusal after everything else. To be honest, he wanted to go back to the bed he had woken up on, curl up and sleep through the rest of the horror.

"Ah..." The lock clicked and the door slowly opened a crack. Someone peered out and then Francis was pulling it open fully. He glanced over them all, seemed to spot that one of them was missing and bit at his lip. Without a word, he pulled Arthur in; he seemed to be intent on holding onto him which meant Arthur had to rip his arm free so he could put the candelabra down. The other three trooped in and they closed and locked the door.

Lovino spotted what was wrong instantly. "Where's my brother?" he demanded. "And what was that shouting and...?"

So they had heard... Arthur didn't know what to say. How could he tell someone that the two people he was closest to were now dead? Luckily, Alfred took it upon himself to deliver the news.

"I'm sorry, man," he murmured, head bowed. "He... He didn't listen. He just... We tried to..."

"He ran off," Carlito explained. "There was... _something_ out there and he bolted."

"Wha-? No..." Lovino slowly stood, Antonio's cold hand slipping from his grasp. "No. Wh-Why aren't you going after him?!"

"There... We..." said Matthew, his voice becoming quieter and quieter as he teared up. "We heard... him..."

"No!" shouted Lovino, stomping around the bed. "You don't know he's dead! Have you- Have you seen-?"

"We don't want to see them," said Arthur, glancing at Antonio. He had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself once he had done so.

"Who the fuck said _you_ could decide what we want to see?!"

"Arthur," said Francis, cutting through Arthur's retort. "Arthur. I think you should tell them."

Tensing, Arthur slowly swivelled to glare at Francis, barely noting the two girls who were seated on the bed holding onto each other. "What do you mean?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Tell them about the nightmares."

"I don't remember them. What nightmares?"

"You know what I'm talking about!" Francis snapped. "There's something about this place that connects them, isn't there?!"

Again, Arthur tensed. Then, defeated, he deflated, sighing. "All right." Not looking at anyone, he crossed the room to stare out of the window. "I've had these nightmares for as long as I can remember..."

"What has that got to do with anything?" Lovino demanded. "What's it got to do with my brother?"

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Arthur turned to face him. "It's always about an abandoned, haunted house. Voices I don't remember saying things, talking to me. What I remember is that we're trapped in a huge house and everyone... they... death. That's... That's really all I remember. But... But it's become more vivid when we got here. And when I fainted, I remembered a little more."

"Jack..." said Alfred.

"Yeah," Arthur replied, gazing down at the ground. "I don't... I don't know what happens in the rest of the nightmare. That's all I remember... But it's so similar to what's happening and I just... I think..."

"What? Were they premonitions?" Lovino said, deceptively calm. Arthur could see his dark expression and wasn't fooled. He was fully prepared for Lovino marching over to him. However, the Italian had barely grabbed his collar with the intent to punch him when he was grabbed around the waist and pulled off. The man struggled until Francis put him down and stood between him and Arthur.

"Wait. Would you listen to yourself? Even if there was such a thing as precognition, why would there be someone called 'Jack'? And, even if it was something that existed, I don't think it's that simple."

"What do you mean?" asked Myriam, looking curious.

Francis smiled kindly at her: from their close proximity, Arthur could see the weariness and stress he was trying to disguise. "That is where you come in, ma chére. Is it viable for psychologists to repress a patient's memories?"

The Psychology student blinked behind her round spectacles, thinking. Arthur, meanwhile, was openly shocked at Francis's suggestion. Memories? But, if that was the case... He turned his attention to Myriam as she put a finger to her chin, nodding to herself.

"Well. It is possible to hypnotise patients if an active solution is not. Usually it is used to retrieve repressed memories, not the other way around. But, I suppose, if Arthur's trauma was severe enough..."

"What?!" Arthur exclaimed. "No. No, no, no. It can't be- That can't have- No. There's no way that- this- There's no way it happened before." His tone was firm as he stopped speaking, glaring at the room. "This just..."

Gently, Francis laid a hand on Arthur's arm. He flinched and almost drew away before he forced himself to freeze. "Arthur... Don't you think there's a chance that it has? And that you managed to get away? Perhaps there is something you remember that can help us..."

Staring into Francis's eyes for a second, the darkness of the room making them a deep blue in colour, Arthur considered it. True, it was likely that what he said was true: it would explain why all the dreams were fragmented and that they hardly ever contained images. But if that was true... Jack and the other boy, his friends, were likely dead. Why else would he have been hypnotised into forgetting?

He shook his head. "This is insane..." he muttered.

"Tsk," said Lovino, obviously losing his patience. "Hurry up and tell me how to save my brother."

"I... I don't- The only thing I remember is... A window. Of some sort..." Arthur furrowed his brow in concentration but he only got the vague impression of death, whispers and giggling. Shaking his head to rid himself of the disconcerting echoes, he looked up at Lovino and locked his gaze with the Italian's. "I am afraid that I don't think..." He trailed off and bit his lip, hanging his head in shame and grief.

"Liar!" Lovino screeched. "You just want to save yourself! That's why you didn't tell anyone about this! That's why you abandoned my brother!" With that, he marched to the door, the three who had been on the expedition moving out of his path. He barely paused to unlock the door before he wrenched it open.

There was a second of stillness.

Lovino's grief-stricken scream tore through the room as they all stared in horror at the... _things_... hanging at head height in the doorway. What appeared to be Feliciano's torso, his head still attached, dangled by the neck. His limbs had been ripped from his body and they spun beside him like some kind of grotesque mobile. Strips of his fashionable and expensive shirt did nothing to hide the gigantic hole in his chest and abdomen and a deep cut stretch across his neck, visible just beneath the coarse rope.

Distantly, Arthur felt Francis grip his arm tightly as he swayed on the spot, horrified at the scene. He brought a hand up and bit into it to stop himself from sobbing or crying out himself, aware that Lovino would not want him to join in his mourning. The girls had no such qualms and they wailed, leaning into each other as they continued to clutch at each other for support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Feli.
> 
> Lovino and Feliciano's conversation goes something like this:  
> "Don't be stupid! It's too dangerous! I won't let you do this!"  
> "Please, brother. You need to stay here, with Antonio."  
> Or so Google Translate tells me.


	4. Blame Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I added 'relationships' to this story. The references to these will be very, very vague and will not refer to Arthur's feelings whatsoever as he'll be a bit preoccupied. I just thought I should add them in because there'll be a couple of instances where I think I'll be writing it as if their relationship will be a little more than friends. Make sense?
> 
> If not, just read on and ignore me.

It fell to Carlito to bring Feliciano in and lay him on the bed beside Antonio. Lovino watched, expressionless, and Arthur suspected he was in shock. No-one spoke throughout the process and it stayed silent even after Matthew had locked the door again. For a while, they were each left to their thoughts.

And then it started.

"If you had told us," Lovino said, his voice shaking, "we wouldn't be in this situation." He looked up at Arthur, his face slowly morphing into one of rage.

"I didn't think it was real," whispered Arthur, dropping his gaze.

"My brother's dead."

"I know."

"Antonio's dead."

"I know!" Arthur bit his lip again, holding back tears. Whatever excuses he handed to Lovino, he knew that the Italian was right. This was his fault. He should never have let them enter the house.

"We're trapped here."

"Yes."

Lovino snorted in derision. "Who knows who's next?"

"Please," Arthur pleaded, wishing he would stop. He wasn't sure he could take it if he continued.

"It's not Arthur's fault," snapped Francis, glowering at Lovino. Arthur felt himself relax a little and shot Francis a grateful look.

"Of course it is!" shouted Lovino. "Whose else is it?" He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing further as he glared at Francis. "I thought you were Antonio's friend? Why are you taking _his_ side?"

"Isn't Arthur _your_ friend?" Francis demanded in turn. "I know he's... he's dead but you can't blame Arthur for something he was unaware of-"

"He was! He said so before we came in!"

"He wasn't sure of what he knew!"

"I'm right here!" Arthur snapped. "I can speak for myself."

"Then do it," said Lovino, turning his glare back to Arthur. "Why didn't you stop us coming in here?"

Arthur stared at Lovino for a moment, considering his and Francis's words. Both of them were right, he realised. He was to blame, but perhaps only partially. "Would you have believed me if I told you it didn't feel right?" When Lovino tensed and didn't answer, Arthur folded his arms. "See? I know I should have said something but... would it have made a difference to the outcome?"

"We would have been more careful."

"I don't think that's an option," said Arthur, glancing towards Feliciano's face: Carlito had closed his eyes, thankfully. He thought back on Feliciano's actions and his own in the other room. "I think... I think whatever's in this place can compel you to do things you wouldn't normally do in a dangerous situation. Such as running away from the group. Or following a shadowy figure to a remote part of the house..."

Again, Lovino snorted. "So we're not even safe here?"

"If we look after each other," Matthew piped up, "we can probably make sure no-one wanders off."

"Head count!" Alfred declared.

Everyone paused to count everyone and several of them nodded at the result. At that point, Francis moved over to the girls whose cheeks were still wet from the tears and sat between them, hugging them both to his chest in comfort. They clung to his shirt and Mickaela began to sob again, muffled now.

"Since you've stopped arguing," Carlito said, "I would just like to point out that it's not Arthur's fault at all."

"What?" asked Arthur, amazed.

"You're not the one who dragged us on this trip."

Everyone froze as Alfred tensed. "What was that?" the American asked through gritted teeth.

"You heard me."

"I didn't know this would happen!" Alfred snapped.

"But, if we're blaming people, we should put the blame on you," said Carlito, sneering at him. "After all, most of us didn't want to come on this trip until you _whined_ about it. You're such a child and the rest of us would rather placate you than listen to you being so irritating."

"You-!"

"Alfred!" cried Matthew, stepping between the two of them as Alfred started towards Carlito. "Carl, stop antagonising him."

The room went silent, except for the heavy breathing of Alfred as he tried to calm down. Carlito looked smug but he abided by Matthew's wishes and made sure Alfred didn't catch sight of his expression. After a moment, Myriam sat up and pulled away from Francis: Mickaela copied her but let Francis keep his arm around her.

"Does it really matter who is to blame?" asked Myriam, frowning at them all. "We do not need to know who got us into this mess – we need to find a _solution_."

"What do we do?" asked Mickaela. "Every time we leave the room, someone..."

"Well..." said Matthew slowly, shifting guiltily. "I was thinking... These... things... seem to understand us, right? Maybe we could barter our release somehow."

"With what?" asked Arthur, frowning. "I doubt they want anything in particular bar our lives."

"Maybe we can lay them to rest?"

"I think these spirits are too far gone to want that."

"We should find weapons," said Lovino, suddenly, surprising them.

"From where? This place is pretty much void of anything useful. Like a key," Arthur said, waving his hand rather dismissively.

"Maybe there's a poker," Alfred murmured with a shrug. "I mean, iron works against ghosts. Salt, too."

"This isn't bloody Supernatural," Arthur protested, rolling his eyes.

"But it's true, right, that supernatural creatures don't like horseshoes and stuff?"

Grudgingly, Arthur agreed. "I mean, it could work. But what's the likelihood that there'll be something like that in here."

"What's the likelihood that there would be candles here?" Francis pointed out.

Silenced, Arthur glanced between them, both of them looking determined. "Well..."

"So it's agreed, then?" asked Lovino. "We'll go find some weapons?"

"We should split up again. Half stay with-"

"No," Lovino interrupted him. Arthur blinked, confused. "No," Lovino continued, standing with a sigh and moving away from the bed. "No, we'll leave them here. I doubt they'll touch them. I mean, why would they? And we can come back for them."

Arthur tensed. "But... But if we leave them, then Feliciano..." He bit his lip again before taking a deep breath to finish his sentence in a trembling voice. "Died for nothing."

"I don't want to sit here and do nothing!" Lovino snapped. "It was horrible waiting for you to come back. So I want to go. But Alfred will want to and so will Carl and Matt and you. And then Francis will want to tag along and we can't leave the girls. So we should all go."

"Antonio was taken from our group because it was so big – we can't risk that again."

"We can split into pairs and search."

"Are you crazy?!" exclaimed Arthur. "That's the last thing we want to do. If one of the pair is killed the other will be alone and will die as well."

"Why do we not split into two groups and both search?" suggested Myriam.

"But-"

"I think that's for the best," agreed Francis, ignoring Arthur's flustered and upset posturing.

"Alfred and Carlito should be in separate groups," said Lovino, ignoring their protests. "So I say: me, Matthew, Alfred and Arthur in one group; Francis, Myriam, Mickaela and Carlito in the other."

It took them a while to all agree on that and, after several short arguments, they finally all nodded to each other. "Lovino's group will head left and past the stairs," declared Francis, "and we will go right."

* * *

Arthur's group went out first as they had the furthest to go and cautiously made their way along the corridor. Occasionally, a floorboard would creak and they would pause to listen for _things_ approaching. Luckily, nothing appeared and they made their way past the first room they had regrouped in. When they reached the stairs they stopped and Arthur leaned out over the wall, holding his candelabra high in an attempt to see what was downstairs. The light only reached so far down them and glinted off the chandelier so they moved on.

"Do this room by room or down one side and back along the other?" asked Alfred, glancing between two identical doors which faced each other.

"One at a time," said Arthur. "If we get to the other end and we have to run, we'll have at least looked in most of them."

"Right." Alfred picked the left door and gingerly pushed it open. It creaked loudly and all of them winced.

Since nothing seemed to happen, Matthew peered in, holding the second candelabra (the one Feliciano had been holding before) high in order to see. He shook his head and stepped inside. "There's nothing here," he told them. Arthur looked in as well and found himself looking at an unfurnished room: there wasn't even a curtain rail. There was, however, a window and, feeling as though he should try doing something, he moved over and tried the latch. He found that it had melted somehow and was stuck.

Moving back out, Matthew closed the door and Arthur held one of the candles close to it. When Alfred asked what he was doing, Arthur explained that he was marking it so that everyone knew which rooms they had already explored. Once some wax had dripped onto it, he blew on it to cool it before stepping back to admire his work: the blob of wax was at head height so that everyone could see it at a glance as they passed by.

He just hoped that whatever was in the house wouldn't remove it or know what it was for.

They crossed the hall and then continued in this manner along the corridor, barely speaking but to declare the contents unworthy. Some of them had beds and others had desks but, for the most part, there was nothing in any of them. Arthur marked all of the doors though Lovino began to get restless about halfway along the corridor. He began to shift his weight, wanting to move along when Arthur slowly and carefully spilled the wax. Sometimes he grumbled under his breath, saying they should be going quicker.

The silence was also getting to Alfred and Matthew: they began to glance around, peering along the hallway and startling when Arthur spoke to say he was done. A couple of times, Matthew paused, saying he had heard something and they all held their breaths, waiting to see what would come of it. However, no-one heard what Matthew was hearing and, after a few moments with nothing happening, they moved on.

Surprisingly, Arthur was the only one not tense – he could not hear giggling or voices whispering his name from everywhere and nowhere so decided they were safe for the time being.

Finally, halfway along the corridor, they came upon a bigger room. It turned out to be a large dining room, its table running the length of it. Large windows showed the darkness outside and the moonlight shining upon the world. Cabinets at the side displayed large dishes and utensils which appeared to be silver. Bottles of various liquids were on display, their labels covered in dust. A gigantic fireplace made the room colder than the rest of the house as the wind howled above them. Beside it, on an appropriate stand, were several tools for building fires. Alfred gave a cheer when he spotted it and rushed forward.

"Awesome! Didn't think we'd ever find something!"

Lovino hurried over as well and grabbed the poker before Alfred could. "Get your own," he snapped, holding it out of Alfred's reach.

"Fine!" Alfred retorted, pouting. He grabbed the toasting fork and the heavy shovel which he passed to Matthew.

"What? Why do I get _that_?" asked Matthew, eyeing the fork.

"Because I got here first."

Rolling his eyes at their arguing, Arthur tuned them out and opened one of the cabinets after setting down his candelabra. A rush of air seemed to pass him but, when he glanced around, he saw nothing out of place. Holding his hand out, he realised he couldn't feel anything now. It was rather like he had released something he couldn't see. Unnerved, he returned to his task – pulling out the large silver carving knives he had spotted. He held one close to the candles and peered at it. Sure enough, there was a mark to confirm it was silver. Whoever had lived there must have been rich to have these. But, as much as he had mocked Alfred for using Supernatural as a reference, he thought these would be a better weapon than the candelabra so he decided to take them.

He straightened and turned to the others who had stopped bickering by now and were watching him as he tucked one of his knives into his belt. "What?"

"Didja find something?" asked Alfred.

"I've got weapons." He held up the other knife in demonstration.

"Cool. Let's get back to the others."

In the hallway, Arthur took the lead, eager to get back to a room which they could be safe. However, they had barely gotten a few feet from the dining room when he was stopped in his tracks by the appearance of the shadowy figure from before. "No," he whispered as he heard the others stop behind him.

Nobody moved for quite some time until Alfred stepped up beside Arthur, standing quite close to him. Arthur could feel him tremble – or maybe that was Arthur himself. "Why isn't it attacking?" he muttered under his breath.

"How the fuck should I know?" answered Arthur.

"Sorry, dude. I just... What should we do? Go back?"

"Back where?" demanded Lovino, keeping his voice low.

"Well, I dunno – maybe there's, like, servant stairs or something. This house is some really old shit."

Matthew sidled closer and spoke up. "Maybe we should try talking to it?"

" _Talking_?!" Arthur hissed, barely remembering to keep his voice down.

"Well, yeah. Maybe we just need to ask nicely to leave. We did kind of barge in..."

"I don't think that's a good idea..."

"It's better than nothing," Lovino said, glancing over his shoulder.

"But this is the same thing that killed Feli without question," Arthur protested. "Surely it will do the same to whoever gets closer?"

"There's only one way to find out," said Matthew. He passed the candelabra to Lovino and took a step towards the thing. Before he could take another, Alfred's hand shot out and grabbed his elbow.

"What the fuck are you doing, Mattie?" he hissed, leaning towards him as if he could stop the others from hearing. Noise carried within the hall, though, and they could clearly hear them. Arthur stepped closer to the wall, to try to give them some more privacy.

"Listen, Al," sighed Matthew, "this is our best chance of getting past it. Look; I've got a weapon. If it tries to attack me, I can defend myself. I won't get too close and I'll only ask it to let us past for now. And I'll apologise for intruding and maybe that'll help us."

Alfred tensed, staring into his cousin's eyes. Then, finally, he took a deep breath and, as he released it, he let him go. He gave Matthew a nod and stepped back. Matthew nodded to him in gratitude before turning and making his way forward.

He stopped about five feet from the figure and peered up at it. "Hello. I'm terribly sorry for intruding and everything but may we go past? We'll be out of your... house soon."

The figure didn't move or say anything. As Arthur watched them, he began to feel the sensation of being watched again. Gasping slightly, he gripped his candelabra tighter, drawing comfort from the light.

That was the exact moment something flew through the shadow figure and struck Matthew's chest. While the shadow disappeared, Matthew swayed on his feet. At first, Arthur wasn't sure what he was witnessing. Then Matthew turned towards them, eyes wide, mouth agape – with some sort of pole sticking out of him. From the location, Arthur presumed it had hit his heart.

For a brief moment, Arthur's eyes met Matthew's shocked ones.

Then Matthew toppled forwards, landing on his knees before collapsing onto the pole. Instead of his body slumping to the floor, he was held up by the weapon before he slowly began to slide down it. Arthur watched him, staring in horror at the bloody smear being left on the point of the weapon which now stuck out of his back. It appeared to be a spear but he didn't have time to dwell on that fact.

"Matthew!" cried Alfred and he rushed forward, his hands waving around as he tried to think of what to do, a clatter echoing as he dropped his poker. Finally, he dropped to his knees beside Matthew and laid him onto his side, cradling his body to him. "Hey! Hey, Mattie, c'mon. Don't do this to me – Mom'll kill me." He gave a weak chuckle as if to encourage Matthew to laugh. "C'mon. Hang in there. Mattie?"

Arthur and Lovino circled around them. Looking down at Matthew's face, Arthur could see that his eyes were wide and unseeing behind his crooked glasses. A dribble of blood had escaped his mouth and was sliding down towards Alfred's hand as he rocked back and forth, patting at Matthew's cheek, trying to wake him. Glancing towards Lovino, Arthur could see his resigned expression: the Italian had just gone through the same thing and knew that words would not help.

Deciding to try to provide comfort to his friend through physical contact, Arthur stuck the knife he was carrying into his belt and reached for him. Alfred saw the move and flinched away. Arthur froze and watched as Alfred jerked his head up, glaring at him.

"No!" snapped the American. "Stay away! This- It's not-" He stopped and growled, his eyes narrowing further and Arthur could see the pain and fury in his eyes – and that fury was directed at Arthur.

Biting his lip to keep it from trembling, he stepped back, realising Alfred blamed him for what had happened. Clearly he thought that Arthur should have backed him up or dissuaded Matthew better. Maybe he thought as Lovino did, that this whole venture was _Arthur's_ fault. And it was; he certainly agreed with them. If only he could remember, if only he knew how to protect his friends, how to get them out alive.

He glanced at Lovino who simply stared back, his gaze seeming empty but Arthur imagined that, behind the numbness and grief, he could see the anger directed towards him. It was evident to Arthur that Lovino still blamed him and had just added another death to the list of Arthur's victims.

Somewhere close and far away, someone giggled.

Unable to deal with the two people who now hated him the most, Arthur dropped his candelabra, spun around and ran, heading along the hall. He didn't know where he was going or how long he'd survive on his own but he couldn't stop himself. Distantly, he heard shouting, perhaps his name, maybe he could make out worry. For the most part, though, he heard giggling as he left the light and stepped into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry - I didn't mean for Matthew to die in this chapter. But I realised that all I wanted in this chapter turned out to be just till the break and I decided it would be best to make sure it was longer.


	5. Light

Everything was silent as Arthur ran, save for his pounding footsteps and panting. He couldn't see anything and, for a few moments as he continued along, he wondered if the disconcerting way of being unable to see was what being blind was like. Shuddering at the thought, he continued onwards.

After a while, Arthur realised that he could see again. Nothing was clear but he could see the grey shadows of the items which had been on display in the hall. He slowed to a stop, staring around. Being able to see meant there was light – but where was it coming from? Looking around, he saw no candles burning.

Hesitantly, he started to walk again, gazing around. He noticed after a while that the walls seemed to be shifting, strange sliding movements running backwards and forwards along it. They seemed to ripple as he moved along and he shuddered upon his realisation.

Then he noticed that the light was getting slowly brighter. Whatever it was appeared to be giving off a white light and as it gradually grew brighter, everything slowly began to disappear. All he could see was white. The hall began to seem much more sinister than it had when it was in darkness and, breathing quicker in panic, Arthur darted to a door. Reaching out a hand, he tried to turn the handle only to yelp in pain as it burned him. Staggering back, he blew on his palm, wide-eyed. Just what was going on?

And the voices started. Giggling and calling out to him, they seemed to be all around. Spinning, he tried to see them but the light was beginning to blind him and he had to close his eyes, though he could still see the light through his eyelids. Terrified and alone, he picked a direction and began to run, keeping his eyes closed. Several times, he stumbled into what felt like a table or a chair. A couple of times, he heard something smash, drowning out the voices for a second.

When the light suddenly disappeared along with the voices, he cried out and stopped himself, leaning on a wall to steady himself. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times. It was dark again and he stared around in the hopes that he could see something. Several seconds passed before he realised that, although it was still dark, a light in the distance was flickering and helping him to see the table he had almost walked into. Realising that it must be the glow of candles, Arthur gasped with relief and staggered off, quickly building up to a run.

Upon reaching the candles, he found the other group, gathered around and gazing at some weapons they had apparently found on the wall. He spotted a sword, a rifle, a short axe and a club of some sort. Whoever had owned this house had obviously been a collector and he wondered briefly if that was how the things had gotten hold of the spear which killed Matthew.

They heard him approach and they turned, alarmed, raising their weapons in preparation. However, Francis gasped and, dropping the sword, stepped past Carlito and caught Arthur as he barrelled into him. "Arthur!" he exclaimed, obviously not caring if he was heard by nefarious forces. "Where are the others?"

"I..." Arthur began, trying to control his breathing. He considered pulling away – he had never liked anyone touching him, not even his parents. But he found that he needed some sort of comfort and he relaxed in Francis's hold instead. When he had caught his breath, he said, "I'm sorry. I just... Matthew. He... And I-I couldn't face... I just... I was stupid. I think they were coming for me but they-they stopped for some reason." He shook his head, rubbing his forehead against Francis's shoulder. In response, the Frenchman clutched him closer.

"Did...?" said Carlito, sounding choked. "Did you say... Matthew? What happened to him?"

Arthur tensed and, before he could straighten, Francis pressed a hand to the back of his head and kept him in place. "Let him have a moment," Francis told him, sounding irritated.

"I just want to know if my friend is safe!" Carlito snapped, though he sounded strained.

"Dead!" Arthur found himself shouting, probably right into Francis's ear. "He's dead and we couldn't do anything to stop it or save him!"

"No..." he heard Carlito breathe. There was a distant thud and Arthur pulled away from Francis who slowly let him go: he kept his arms reassuringly on Arthur's arms. As he straightened, he realised he felt a pressure around his forehead and eyes as he fought to keep in his tears. It made him feel dizzy as he looked down at Carlito who had slid to the floor, back to the wall. The two girls behind Francis were clutching each other's hands and had scared expressions as they glanced between the men.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur moved further away from Francis, ignoring the need to cry. "I'm sorry," he told Carlito. "I shouldn't have... Not like that..."

Carlito shook his head. "It's..." He trailed off and shook his head again.

"Will Alfred and Lovino be all right?" asked Myriam, softly, as if she didn't want to upset anyone.

Grimacing, Arthur shook his head. "I don't know. We need to go find-"

"Look!" whispered Mickaela, suddenly, using her free hand to point. "There's a light."

Sure enough, when everyone turned to look, there was a flickering light approaching. All of them tensed as they waited to see what would come out of the darkness. Beside him, Arthur noticed Francis shifting his weight as he lifted his sword.

Their concern was unwarranted, however, as the light became brighter and closer, it eventually revealed Lovino and Alfred who was carefully carrying Matthew. Lovino was holding his own weapon and candelabra as well as Arthur's, Matthew's weapon and the spear that had killed him. Alfred still held the poker, clutching it rather tightly as if he wanted to kill anyone which wanted to touch his cousin. Spotting the group, they picked up the pace so that they were soon standing before them, sadly looking at each other. Arthur found himself staring at Matthew, his eyes now closed as an arm hung limply, bobbing as Alfred moved.

Although he had tried to restrain his tears, Arthur felt something trickle down his cheek and he realised he couldn't hold it in any more. After all, besides Francis, Matthew was the first person he had spoken to at the college and he had found him a caring friend. He could barely believe he was gone and his grief seemed to draw on buried feelings from the forgotten memories.

Alfred seemed to notice his distress and he carefully laid Matthew beside Carlito who shuffled closer and clutched at his friend's hand. Then, for once not berating Carlito for getting too close to his cousin, Alfred turned to Arthur and pulled him into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around Arthur's waist.

"I'm sorry," the American murmured, quiet for once. "I didn't mean to yell at ya. I was just... It was a shock. It's not your fault."

At that point, Arthur broke down, sobbing into Alfred's shoulder. He wrapped his arms tighter around Alfred, as if he thought he could keep Alfred safe. Something told him that he was fooling himself, though; perhaps he had been hugged through his previous ordeal.

It seemed as though he had been crying for hours when Carlito spoke up. "We should get back to the room. It's not safe here."

Reluctantly, Arthur let go of Alfred who he saw had also been silently crying. He gave Arthur a watery smile and squeezed his shoulder before pushing Carlito out of the way to pick Matthew up. The other man scowled at that and looked about to protest when Lovino elbowed him and shook his head without looking away from Matthew's body. Once Alfred had straightened, they silently set off, a procession making its way through the house.

* * *

They sat in silence, this time with almost everyone on the floor as the second bed had been given over to Matthew. Carlito had managed to claim a chair and sit closest to him, holding onto his hand. Lovino had taken the other and was holding Antonio's hand as the silence pressed down on them. The rest formed a semicircle so that they could all see everyone else.

Eventually, Alfred broke the silence. "What do we do now?"

"We get out," said Arthur, lowly, sounding rather emotionless. He was exhausted and just wanted to wake up from a bad dream in his dorm room. There he would laugh everything off and spend more time with his friends to make up for being so grumpy most of the time. Maybe he would call his old therapist and talk to his parents, ask them if they knew a Jack and anyone with a name beginning with O. Unfortunately, he knew this wasn't ever going to happen.

"Yeah, but, how?"

"We go smash a window and climb out."

"Won't they try to stop us?" asked Mickaela.

At that, Arthur hesitated. "I... Maybe. I think... No, I can't remember."

"Maybe we should hypnotise you and retrieve the memories," suggested Francis. "Do you know how to hypnotise people, Myriam?"

"Of course not!" exclaimed the Psychology student, sounding rather offended. "It is not something often used in my desired profession."

"Maybe ya can help him remember another way?" said Alfred, tilting his head.

"In all honesty, I do not understand why he has not remembered more if it has happened before. All of what has happened so far should have triggered his recall."

"It must have been a traumatic experience that he tried to forget and the hypnotism buried them further," suggested Francis. "Buried so deeply that it's harder for him to remember."

Arthur rubbed at his temples and shook his head. "Look, it doesn't matter if I remember or not. We should go pick a window and-"

"No," said Carlito, suddenly. "I don't want to leave."

"What?" Alfred asked, frowning deeply. "What's your problem now?"

Carlito turned in his chair, continuing to clutch Matthew's hand. "I said I don't want to leave. Don't you care about Matthew enough to avenge him?"

"Avenge him? Are you crazy? How the fuck would we do that? Besides, Mattie wouldn't want-"

"How would you know?" growled Carlito. "You barely paid attention to him."  
Alfred's face twisted in grief and pain before it settled into anger. "Don't you tell me I don't know my own cousin."

Suddenly, Arthur felt a sharp pain in his head and he gasped, clutching at his forehead. Closing his eyes, he suddenly found himself witnessing a scene from the past. It proved that the recent events were horribly familiar...

* * *

_"They killed my mum!" snapped -----, though the tears in his eyes gave away how upset he was._

_"Yeah," sighed Jack, hugging himself._

_"What do we do...?" asked 'Artie', quietly, openly letting his tears run down his cheeks. O----- had his arms around him, hugging the younger boy close._

_"'What do we do'?" said -----. "It's obvious, innit?"_

_"Is it?" asked O-----, shooting him a concerned look._

_"Yeah! We've gotta avenge our parents' deaths!"_

_"How?" demanded Jack. "It's not like we have any weapons or even know_ what _they are."_

_"Exactly," O----- agreed._

_"I wanna go home," murmured 'Artie' with a sniff._

_"No! Even if we go home, other people could get killed. Let's just kill 'em now-"_

* * *

_"Bruce!" cried O-----, letting go of 'Artie' and rushing forward to the body._

_'Artie' buried his face in his hands and tried to stifle his sobs. Something wrapped around him and he gasped only to find that Jack had picked him up and cradled him to his body. "Olly!" he shouted. "Olly, come back. He's gone – it's no use. We gotta go!"_

_Olly halted and looked back at them. 'Artie' stared back with large, shining eyes. Finally, Olly nodded and hurried back._

* * *

Opening his eyes, Arthur squinted at the light and glanced around at Alfred and Francis who were both sitting rather close to him. Alfred was flapping his arms around and Arthur winced at his enthusiasm. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Ah!" exclaimed Alfred, letting his arms fall and leaning closer. "Are you all right?! You just sorta... stopped. And you were clutching your head. Are you okay?"

"You just asked that twice, idiot," sighed Arthur. "I was just... remembering something."

"What was it?" asked Francis, speaking gently.

"Just..." Arthur shrugged. "Someone who was there the first time wanted to fight back but we didn't have weapons... It didn't end well for them."

"But _we_ have weapons," Lovino pointed out, suddenly coming into the conversation. Everyone turned to stare at him. "I agree with Carlito. We should fight back. I won't forgive them for killing Feli and Antonio."

"I don't want to fight!" cried Mickaela, looking quite upset.

"Neither do I," Myriam agreed. "I want to go home."

There was a tense silence. So far, it was two against two. Arthur bit his lip as he knew the rest of them wanted to leave. However, he was surprised when Alfred spoke up. "I... I don't want to leave Mattie."

"Quoi?!" exclaimed Francis. "You wish to fight ghosts, too. That is crazy. We should leave."

Arthur tensed, realising that he had the deciding vote. Everyone turned to him. "I... I just want everyone to leave alive." He didn't mention that he didn't care about himself, as long as the rest of them were all right...

"Then the majority has decided-"

"That is hardly fair!" growled Carlito. "Let _us_ stay, and the rest of you can slink off back home."

"You say that like it's a-"

The candles flickered and a bell tolled. Everyone stopped to listen, mentally counting. Once the initial bells stopped, a deeper bell struck once and stopped. One in the morning. They still had several hours before sunrise. But the other thing which occurred to Arthur was that they hadn't heard it toll before – why was it doing so now?

That was when he noticed something on the door, something dark which expanded and grew until it became a shadow and the shadow became a figure. It straightened up to tower over them and then turned its gaze to Arthur who could feel it looking. "Shit," he whispered.

Carlito barely paused to take in this alarming development. He grabbed the rifle, swung it around and fired. There was a deafening bang and then a rattling noise as the buckshot passed through the shadow. It turned towards him and raised an arm, stepping towards Carlito who was cursing and rising from his chair to back away.

Due to the volume of the shot, the others were shocked from their stunned stupor. They all jumped to their feet. Lovino was the first to reach the creature, however, and swung his iron poker. This time, his weapon had an affect; it cut the shadow in two and, after hanging in midair for a second, the two parts floated to the ground. The darkness pooled into a puddle before it seemed to sink through the floor. They all stared at it, watching, waiting.

When nothing else seemed to happen, Lovino released a breath. "See?" he said, quietly. "We _can_ fight them."

"How did it get in here?" asked Francis. "I mean, they haven't been coming in here before and we would be stuck if they attacked us all at once."

"Who knows what they can do," sighed Arthur. "I still think we should get out of here."

"But," said Myriam, thoughtfully, a finger at her chin, "if we could hold them off, maybe we could figure out a way to destroy them."

"What? How could we-?"

"There was a library," Mickaela explained, apparently understanding what Myriam was thinking about. "And you said you were in a study. Maybe there are documents which tell us why this is happening and how to lay the spirits to rest."

"I don't think that's a good idea," protested Arthur.

"Perhaps it is not such a bad idea," Francis said. When Arthur turned to glare at him, he noticed the way the Frenchman was staring at him; he seemed to be concerned but Arthur wasn't sure if that was an act or not. "Don't you want to know that this is finished once and for all? Maybe it will help stop the nightmares."

Arthur snorted. "Nothing will stop the nightmares."

"But we can totally be the heroes and stop other people from having them," said Alfred, grinning. "C'mon, Artie, we can totally take 'em-!"

"Don't call me that!" Arthur shouted before taking a few heaving breaths. He glanced around nervously as if searching for the other voices. Shaking his head, he told himself that he was being an idiot – they wouldn't show themselves now. "Sorry. Just... Don't, okay?"

"Jesus, fine," Alfred grumbled, scowling now. Arthur grimaced but he didn't apologise, instead turning away to take a deep breath and steady himself. Besides, a few seconds later and Alfred had bounced back, excitedly telling everyone, "We'll be awesome! Let's go kick ghost butt!"

Looking back to the others, Arthur could see their determination and his heart sank. He knew something horrible would happen; it was as though it was a fact instead of a bad feeling in his gut. However, he knew he couldn't win against them so he shrugged. "If that's what you want..."

* * *

This time, they didn't argue about who should go as they all crept from the room, glancing around to make sure the shadow figures weren't around. They headed in the direction Francis and the others had taken previously and didn't encounter anything unpleasant. Instead of going into the study, they decided to spend most of their time in the library, searching through the multitude of books the four had seen.

As it turned out, it was a small library with only four rows but each bookcase was stuffed full of books. A large, square table had been put at the end of the rows as a reading space. Two books were left in a small, haphazard pile and what appeared to be a notebook had been dropped into the centre. Pens and pencils had rolled every which way and were on the floor: Arthur almost slipped on one as they entered.

Arthur made his way over to the nearest bookshelf and peered at the titles. _Petit Albert_. _Dragon Rouge_. _The Magus_. _The Necronomicon_. When Arthur spotted a black copy of _Book of Shadows_ , he groaned. "Shit. These are all magic books."

"Ah, look!" cried Myriam. "There is a journal on the table!" She settled herself into the seat before it and flicked it open as Arthur slipped the Book of Shadows from the shelf to flick through. Perhaps, he reasoned, there would be a spell to help them. He paused, though, as he felt his fingers tingling and he frowned down at it.

"What does it say?" asked Mickaela, standing behind Myriam and leaning over her. That snapped Arthur from his thoughts and he turned to listen to them. The others also crowded round, forming a circle around the table.

"'The house is finally finished and I find myself yearning for my wife once more. She will be here soon and she will bring my son, whom I have not seen since I left for the New World before he was born.' It must be a journal about the house."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Francis. "Does it tell you the name of the house?"

Myriam shook her head but skimmed down the rest of the page. "No... Nothing like that. But it does describe how they had to level the land: there was some sort of mound or hillock. I am going to look at the back." Everyone waited patiently as she flipped through it until she found the page which had been written on last. She made a noise of disapproval and Arthur, unable to see her expression from behind Myriam, imagined her wrinkling her nose in distaste. "It is illegible. One moment." She flicked back a page and paused.

"What is it?" asked Lovino, frowning, too. "What's wrong?"

"It... It just says: 'How did they get in? They should not be here. There has been so much death here tonight. Thank the Lord my son is still alive. However, I have a horrible suspicion that they are keeping the youngest in the house alive for their own purposes. I must-'" Myriam carefully replaced the book on the table. "That is where it stops..."

There was a short silence. "Arthur..." said Francis, slowly, turning to the frozen Brit. "Were you the youngest in the last house?"

For a few brief seconds, Arthur was too horrified to speak. The youngest was kept alive? But that meant... "Yes."

"That explains why you're here now – they, whoever _they_ are, hadn't killed everyone else yet."

"What about us?" asked Alfred, frowning. "Which one of us will be kept alive till the end?"

"I think it's..." began Francis before trailing off. "Merde," he whispered, eyes widening. "That would be me."

Everyone went silent, staring at Francis. All, that was, except Arthur who had taken to staring at the book in his hands. "No," he breathed and his voice seemed to ring throughout the silent room. "No, that would be me... I-I left school a year early, since I had all the qualifications for the course. I wanted to get away from home – I felt trapped and the nightmares weren't helping. So I figured that I could go to college or university across the ocean and it would help."

"What...?" said Alfred, slowly, as if he didn't understand. "But... how old are you?"

"Seventeen," Arthur admitted, raising his eyes to look at him, a pained expression on his face. "I won't be eighteen till April."

"They want you," said Carlito, confirming it for the group.

"It seems so..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! No deaths!
> 
> I'm sorry for the whole sore head -> regained memories thing. But I figured it would hurt a little while he's awake...?


	6. Silence! In The Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the deaths in this chapter are rather gruesome. I mean, if there are deaths. Not that there are. Maybe...  
> Also... it seems to be a little heavy on the FrUK aspect despite me saying there'd only be hints. (It was only meant to be hints.) Sorry if you're not into that. =/

The vacuum of noise was suddenly filled by Alfred. "Shit... Shit, this is- Shit!"

"My sentiments exactly," breathed Francis.

"We can't let them get him," said Mickaela, decisively.

"No," snapped Arthur, glaring at them all. He shook his head, knowing exactly what 'not letting them get him' meant. There was no way he was going to let them sacrifice themselves for him. In fact, Arthur's mind was racing, trying to work out a way to get them all out of the house.

"What d'ya mean 'no'?" growled Alfred, whirling on him. "If they get you... God knows what they want with you."

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur stepped towards him, jabbing Alfred in the chest. "Maybe they hate me, huh? Maybe they want to torture me by-by reliving all of your deaths. For fuck's sake, I've been trying to get everyone out for hours now and you won't _fucking listen_! We need to leave. _Now_!"

All of them glanced at each other and then looked over at Carlito and Lovino. The two bent on revenge looked at each other before Lovino sighed. "Fine. Let's go. We can come back later and... I don't know, burn down the house."

Arthur visibly deflated, relaxing at the happy news. "Okay. Okay, let's get go-"

"Wait," said Francis, suddenly, his gaze fixed on Myriam who had twisted on her chair to watch the exchange. "Does it tell us what we're dealing with?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Myriam, rather loudly in the otherwise silent house. "Let me just..." She trailed off and flicked backwards through the journal, scanning the contents quickly. Suddenly, she stopped moving and everyone tensed, waiting. "Oh, mon Dieu," she breathed. "Mon Dieu!" she added, becoming louder with each word. "You will not believe me when I tell you what is written here! What we are dealing with is-"

Myriam never got a chance to tell them what she had discovered. For, at that precise moment, something erupted from beneath the table. It shot upwards, looking rather like a giant, black worm. Whatever it was, its maw was open and it crashed through the part of the table upon which the journal rested. Then its mouth snapped shut, seemingly just shy of Myriam's bowed head. Slowly, it drew back downwards, taking the journal and part of the table with it.

Once it had gone, Myriam slowly toppled over. She fell sideways off her chair and hit a piece of the destroyed table. That caused her to roll onto her back in a twisted position – and it revealed her missing face. It looked as though the worm had bitten through her skull and taken part of her brain as that was all they could see along with her severed tongue.

The sight was so horrid and frightening that Arthur staggered backwards and banged into a bookshelf. It happened to be the one he had removed the Book of Shadows from and a few fell, landing on the floor with a series of thuds. Wincing, Arthur turned to look at them – and was met with the sight of the worm silently erupting through the floor and gobbling up the books which had made such noise.

At the same instant that Arthur realised what the thing was doing, he heard a scream behind him and he spun to find Mickaela staggering backwards toward the window, clutching at her own face. Before he could open his mouth, the worm erupted from below her. Arthur could see her glance down at it, eyes widening even further before the worm closed its mouth and pulled, ripping Mickaela in half. He had to swallow his own scream of fear and anger as Mickaela's torso fell to the floor, blood splattering on the wooden boards.

A stillness fell upon the room. Then Alfred shifted his weight and, before Arthur could stop him, he shouted out. "Mickaela!" The American raised his toasting fork as if he could defend her and seemed about to run to her side.

Knowing what was about to happen, Arthur stepped towards Alfred (it was lucky he was so close), grabbed his arm and pulled. Alfred stumbled to the side and, unable to keep upright, ended up falling into Arthur. He almost pulled them both to the floor but, hoping not to make a sound, Arthur caught onto the bookshelf and held them both up even as all of them watched the black worm erupt upwards where Alfred had been standing. Alfred was wide-eyed as he noticed what had almost happened and froze. However, his weight was pushing Arthur further into the bookcase and Arthur realised that he would end up knocking books down around them if he couldn't stand upright. Struggling to keep them both upright, slipping slowly into the shelves, Arthur watched the worm slowly retreat. Thankfully, when it had disappeared completely, Alfred straightened up and pulled Arthur with him. They stared at each other for a moment and took a deep breath.

"We need to get out of here," Arthur whispered. "And try not to be loud: apparently the librarian doesn't like noise..."

"Should we...?" breathed Francis, looking rather nauseous. "Should we take them with us?"

Shrugging, Carlito took it upon himself to move around the table to Mickaela's torso. Arthur watched him tenderly close her eyes before picking her up. He swayed a little, as if he had expected her to have been heavier and was surprised.

Lovino nodded at this and made his way to Myriam. He was halfway between where he had been standing and her body when a floorboard creaked under him. Everyone froze, staring at him. He stared back. Then, quick as a flash he jumped out of the way, landing nimbly on his feet beside Myriam. The worm burst through the floor where he had been a second before and then sank back through the floor. Everyone let out breaths of relief.

They sneaked out of the library, leaping out of the way if a floorboard creaked. It took a lot longer exiting than it did entering but eventually they were free. Sighing in relief, Arthur turned to the others. "We should go down to the front door – we have an axe so we can cut down the door."

"Merde," said Francis, suddenly, making Arthur wobble as he tried to stop himself from turning away. He spared an annoyed glare for the man before frowning deeper at the alarmed look on Francis's face.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"Mickaela had the axe. I think... that thing... took it when..." Francis grimaced and closed his eyes as if to erase the image.

"Shit," said Alfred. "We've left Myriam's club and the candle, too."

"We've got three of them," Arthur said. "We'll be fine."

"We should still go back for the club," reasoned Carlito. "I think she'd set it on the table and it'll be handy for you."

"Fine, fine," Arthur replied, reluctantly. "I'll go back for it – you lo-"

"No way!" cried Alfred before remembering what had just happened and lowering his voice. "You can't do that."

"And why not?" Arthur glowered at Alfred, hoping he would just back down for once – he wasn't sure he had the energy to argue.

"What if it's a trap?" Francis pointed out, frowning at Arthur in turn. "You could walk through the door and the... _things_ could kidnap you. Or whatever it is they want with you."

"Tsk." Arthur could see the logic but he didn't want anyone else to go in his place. Sighing, he shrugged. "You lot can go in for it if you want. But I'm not going to stick around and watch you die. I don't need it, anyway. I've got these." He tapped the hilt of one of his knives.

"Are they any good?" asked Alfred, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, they're silver, we don't know if they work."

"I guess we'll find out at some point."

"How can you say that?!" exclaimed Francis, apparently disregarding the need for quiet. You could be _killed_!"

"Francis!" snapped Arthur, brow furrowed. "I _know_ that! And I still say it's better than the horrible aftermath of watching other people die. Look at me – I can't _fucking_ remember people I used to know! It must have been _extremely_ traumatic. And why do you think that was? I'll tell you why – because everyone was so hell-bent on protecting me, they let themselves die! They thought they were sacrificing themselves for something but what? So I could forget them? So I could live a 'normal' life? _I am not more important than you lot_! Don't ever think that, for God's sake! I can't..." He paused and took a deep breath. "I can't watch any more of you die. I just want to get out of here. _Please_. Forgot about the weapons. We have a sword – we can get through the door and then we can _go home_."

Staring back at him, Francis continued frowning. Then he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Let's get out of here."

"We should put Mickaela and Myriam with the others," suggested Lovino. "It'll be difficult to carry them and fight off monsters at the same time."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed. "Let's do that."

* * *

Mickaela and Myriam were laid out as reverentially as possible beside the others on the floor. Arthur insisted on covering them with the sheets from the bed. They ran out, however, and had to leave their heads uncovered, though they made sure to close all of their eyes. Then they left the room, all three candelabras with them and all of their weapons slung over shoulders or tucked into belts.

Everyone was silent as they moved so Arthur really should have known something was wrong when he heard murmuring as soon as the door closed. The murmuring changed as they walked along, becoming louder until he distinctly heard someone whispering his name. He froze midstep and Francis bumped into him, their candles flickering at the abrupt motion.

"What is it?" asked the Frenchman, sounding concerned.

Arthur shook his head. "No, it's..." He paused to listen but didn't hear anything more. "It's nothing."

Stubborn, Francis turned Arthur around by his arm, his other hand now holding both his sword and the candelabra. "Arthur, you can tell me. Everything that happens is important."

"It's... Just... I heard someone say my name." Arthur shook his arm from Francis's grasp. "It doesn't matter – I've been hearing them the whole time."

Francis's eyes widened, his hand rising instinctively to reach for him. "You've... Why didn't you say anything?"

"I-" began Arthur but he broke off when the corridor suddenly lit up. He heard cries behind him from the others: it seemed he wasn't the only one to see the bright, welcoming light. However, he remembered the voices and the walls from last time and he gasped, wondering what was to come. Instinct drove him to back away from Francis even as the man was blinking in the sudden light. It was steadily growing brighter. Before it got too bright, though, Arthur caught movement out of the corner of his eye and he looked around until he spotted the same rippling on the floor directly beneath him. Once more, he stopped moving and watched it, wondering what would happen.

And then the light went out.

There was an eerie silence as the group blinked once more, waiting for their eyes to adjust. Finally, Arthur felt he could see once more and he chanced a glance downwards. The floor was still rippling but he didn't dare move. Was this some sort of other trap like in the library?

"What on Earth was that?" demanded Francis, his voice carrying.

"I-I don't know..." Arthur breathed still staring at the floor.

He heard Francis gasp and heard him take a step closer. "Arthur... You need to get off it..."

"What is it?" asked Alfred from behind Arthur. There was a brief pause before Alfred spoke again as he took in the sight. "Shit. Shit, fucking _shit_. What is that?"

"Don't move," said Lovino. "It might..."

"He needs to get off it," Francis snapped.

That made Arthur look up. Francis was the only one he could see since he had been at the back of the group and Arthur had been turned around so he caught his gaze. "I'm not-" he began before he felt the floor shift. He gasped and threw out his arms, clutching the candelabra tighter as if to anchor himself. Then it shifted again and he realised it was sinking. He cried out, staring at the hole being formed beneath him.

"Arthur!" cried Francis and he glanced back up to find Francis rushing towards him. Before the Frenchman could reach him, however, Arthur felt the hole open up under his heels and he began to topple backwards. He flung out his hands, dropping the candelabra into the abyss beneath him as he desperately tried to catch hold of something to stop his descent. But the edge of the hole was too far and he missed completely, beginning to fall.

Suddenly, a hand grasped his wrist and he jerked to a stop: he looked up to find Francis sprawled across the floor, holding him tightly. The Frenchman stuck his other hand out and Arthur immediately swung his other upwards. They grabbed hold of each other and Francis strained against gravity and Arthur's weight to pull him upwards.

Once Arthur was high enough, Francis let him go and he clutched at the edge of the hole. It took Arthur a few moments to pull himself out of it until he let himself collapse in a curled ball and tried to catch his breath. However, Francis didn't let him rest for long: he stood and pulled Arthur to his feet. Still shaken, Arthur collapsed into him and Francis wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist.

Behind him, Arthur heard Alfred call out to him and he turned his head slightly to show he was listening. "What the hell happened? Are you okay?"

Sighing, Arthur pulled away from Francis slightly and Francis dropped his arms, though he stayed close. "I'm fine," he murmured, turning to the other three. Each of them had a worried frown. "Honestly, I'm-" He broke off when he spotted that the hole was still there – and that it cut him and Francis off from the others. "Shit."

"Dammit," hissed Carlito. "Now what do we do?"

"It's not so big..." said Arthur, uncertainly. "Perhaps we could."

"No we can't," Francis interrupted him, scanning the floor. "That... strange rippling wasn't concentrated at the hole. It extended. If we try to jump, it may collapse before we can launch ourselves over. Comprendre?"

Nodding, Arthur sighed. "Francis is right, for once-"

"For once?!"

"-we'll have to find another way to meet up with you..."

"What do you mean?" demanded Alfred, stepping closer.

"Al, stop!" snapped Arthur, his heart leaping and pounding in his chest as he saw how close he was to the edge of the hole. "Back up!"

"Huh-? Ah." Alfred did as he was told. Shaking his head, he looked back up at them, his fists clenched. "But what the hell are we supposed to do?"

"Go downstairs," said Francis, leaning over to pick up the candelabra he had dropped. Thankfully, one candle still burned and he used it to light the others before picking up his sword. "There must be other stairs in a place this big. Servant stairs, most likely. We'll meet you at the door."

"What? No!" cried Arthur, looking between Francis and the others wide-eyed. "What if-?"

"What else can we do?" demanded Francis, looking angry. "Look, they'll be fine. They're all strong, young men. If anything, I'm in the most danger – they'll come for you."

"Then-"

"Arthur," sighed Francis, transferring his sword to the hand holding the candelabra. He reached up to touch Arthur's cheek but the Brit pulled away, frowning at him. "We will be fine. I won't let them hurt you. And the others will be alive and well when we rejoin them. Oui?"

"Of course we will," said Lovino. "We won't let them kill anyone else – we'll get our revenge sometime."

"I..."

"It's okay, Artie," said Alfred. He grinned reassuringly at Arthur. "I'm the hero – I'll keep them safe. Just... go quick, okay?"

"Oui. Come along, Arthur," said Francis and he tugged on Arthur's arm to lead him away.

Biting his lip, Arthur reluctantly nodded and followed along – though he kept glancing over his shoulder to make sure the others were all right until they were out of sight.

* * *

It was much more eerie and nerve-racking to be travelling through the house in a pair rather than a group. Knowing that each step might bring them closer to the things and that Francis may die was horrible and Arthur found himself sidling closer to Francis as they moved along the hall. He was determined to save Francis as the Frenchman had saved him and being close would help – at least, that's what he told himself. But, in reality, he felt that being close to Francis helped him to relax slightly.

Perhaps Francis felt the silence was too oppressive. Whatever the reason, he spoke up. "When we get out of here, what are you going to do?"

"Huh?"

"Well, will you go back to college and spend the rest of the holiday there?"

Arthur glanced at him. In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to do. He felt exhausted and world-weary. Really, he would honestly love to hibernate till the end of time, but he supposed that wouldn't be an option. He sighed. "I don't know. What about you?"

"Hm. I think there is someone I would like to ask on a date – before anything horrible happens to either of us."

Snorting, Arthur shook his head. "Only you would think of romance at a time like this."

"It's better than thinking of- Ah, look." Francis pointed to the end of the hall. "We were right. Let's get out of here."

Obediently, Arthur followed, his heart lifting as he saw the dark stairs and he realised they would all get out alive. He rested his hand on the banister as they descended into the shadows. Their situation seemed to be looking up and Arthur could feel a smile forming on his lips when he heard his name being whispered from everywhere and nowhere. Freezing, he clutched at the banister – just as the stairs disappeared from beneath him.

The stairs became a slide and Arthur fell, jarring his tail bone. Luckily, he had enough foresight to grab onto the slat of the banister, stopping his descent. He breathed a sigh of relief for he had a horrible inkling that the bottom of the slide would have a horrible surprise.

His relief was short-lived, however, for he heard Francis cry out as he slid downwards. Francis had been a step behind and so Arthur could see him passing. Without thinking, Arthur reached out and grabbed hold of Francis's wrist – the one still clutching the candelabra. He gasped at the heat even as his arm jerked when Francis halted. There was a clattering sound at the same instant that Francis twisted his arm, holding the flames away from Arthur.

Catching his breath, Arthur panted down to Francis, "What... What was that noise?"

"I... I dropped the sword," replied Francis, also breathing heavily.

"Shit."

"Oui."

"Should we...? What the fuck do we do now?"

"I don't know," sighed Francis. "Perhaps we can slide down a little before you catch hold of the banister."

Arthur considered this, looking around at the narrow slide. There was a good chance that could work. But what if the banister magically fell away when he tried to grab it? Francis would surely die and he would be left alone. "I don't think that's a good idea. Can you stand up?"

"I can try." Francis reached up with his free hand and grabbed the candelabra. Using it to brace himself, he tremulously stood – only for his legs to slide out from underneath him and for him to fall, almost onto Arthur's dangling legs. "Merde," Francis hissed.

"Let me try. Do you think you can-?"

Before he could finish his question, something jabbed him in the back and, all of a sudden, the stairs reappeared. Lying on the stairs, Arthur stared down at Francis and the light: the Frenchman stared back in bewilderment. It took a moment for either of them to speak and Francis was the one to break it.

"Is it... safe?"

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?" sighed Arthur as he struggled to his feet. Francis did likewise and, this time, they both clutched to the banister as they made their way down. Thankfully, there was no surprise slide and they finally reached the bottom. Relieved, they both quietly wandered along the hall, looking for the others.

It didn't take them long to find the foyer and the other three who were crowded around the door. None of them seemed to be the worse for wear and Arthur smiled in relief. Without thinking, he called out to them and rushed forward, running away from Francis and his candles, reaching for the exit to the nightmare.

Alfred turned to see him, eyes wide. "No!" he cried. "Stop! Arth-!"

A whooshing sound sped behind Arthur and he froze, wondering what was going on. Looking behind him, he saw that Francis had stayed at the edge of the large space – and that several arrows were lodged in one of the walls. It hit him what was happening and he glanced around for confirmation – he had strayed into another trap and, this time, he couldn't see his way out of it. Lining the walls were what appeared to be small cannons except they were thin and Arthur could see the points of the arrows sticking out, aimed inwards. If he stayed still, he may be safe but if he didn't move, he'd be stuck – as would Francis. He saw no other option: he would have to spring the trap.

Turning back to Alfred, he took a deep breath and fixed him with a determined stare. Alfred had barely shaken his head when Arthur darted forward, keeping his head down as arrows flew overhead. It happened so quickly that he was surprised upon his arrival to the larger group. He glanced up, blinked and stumbled back a little.

"No!" shouted Alfred, reaching for him. However, Arthur already knew why he was concerned – he had gone backwards into the path of another arrow. The danger barely registered before he felt something shove him and he fell backwards. His head banged, hard, off the floor.

With his vision swimming, the last thing he saw before the darkness ate away at the remaining light was Carlito standing over him with an arrow in his chest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, they're really not doing well. This chapter they've lost: two people, maybe three; three weapons; two candelabras.
> 
> And I'm sorry for killing off the girls after barely using them - but I suddenly realised that I couldn't have them see too much of the journal and I had to put a stop to them finding out the answers too early. And then Mickaela screamed and, well...
> 
> I think the traps may have been inspired by a Doctor Who episode and Indiana Jones. And possible Harry Potter. Sheesh, I'm weird. :I
> 
> This may be the last chapter I'll put up for a while. I'm not sure how long the next one will be and I'm busy towards the end of the week - before I start on NanoWrimo. So, sorry if it takes a while for the rest of it.


	7. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to finish this chapter off before I do other things over the next month. I'm not sure when I'll get another chapter of this out but, hey, at least you get this.

_Arthur Kirkland was an only child. Paid as much attention as he liked by his parents, he never thought to seek out children his own age to play with. With his mother teaching him to read and helping his mother garden, he had plenty to occupy his time with until he was sent off to primary school._

_There he found that the other children all seemed to have friends already. He found it difficult to create a bond with them, craving books and solitude even as he played their games. With the other children forgetting him for the more exuberant people, he grew irritable and became short with them. Besides, none of them were on the same level as him in their reading and sums and it annoyed him to have to watch them struggle through their work._

_Of course, his mother knew nothing of this and neither did his busy father. He made sure to be a bright boy, full of sunshine and laughter around the house. Whenever his 'friends' were asked after, he would explain their absence away and told his parents they weren't allowed to come over. Instead, he kept up his gardening and reading, losing himself in magic and adventures._

_So it was that, on one such day, Arthur met two older boys. By that point, he was seven years old and they were eleven. Both of them had moved in down the street, one after the other. The two of them had become best friends after meeting, bonded by their mutual lack of knowledge of the area and lack of friends. They were passing by when they stopped to ask why Arthur wasn't playing with the others. Arthur explained that he was helping his mum and that gardening was actually really fun. Once he had rattled off some of the knowledge of plants he had gained, Jack and Oliver asked to help as well and they were soon fast friends._

_A couple of years passed with Jack and Oliver seeming to shoot up and on the verge of becoming teenagers. Although Arthur was younger, the two of them involved him as much as possible and he didn't feel as if he was being left out or left behind. Jack often teased him; Arthur never knew why he felt it was so fun to rile him up into losing his temper but it helped him deal with people his own age a lot better than he had been doing. Meanwhile, Oliver was the one to comfort and aid Arthur when he needed help and he loved them both as if they were brothers._

* * *

_It was nearing Jack's thirteenth birthday – the first of the two of them – and one day Arthur found them poring over a list. "What're you doing?" he asked._

_"It's a list of things to pack," explained Oliver, frowning down at it as if it was a serious endeavour._

_"Where are you going?"_

_Jack looked up, excitement clear on his face. "On a trip for our birthdays! It's gonna be well cool!"_

_"Yeah!" Oliver finally looked up, grinning now. "We're going to a '_ haunted' house _!"_

_"Ah! Me too, me too!" cried Arthur, clapping his hands together. They often told each other stories and he loved the horrors. If they were about to go see ghosts, he wanted to see them, too._

_"Nah, this is for big kids." Jack leaned over and shoved at Arthur until he fell on his butt and he glared back at the older boy. Laughing, Jack grabbed him and pulled him over, ruffling his hair. It was rough and Arthur complained, pushing at his hand._

_"Hey," said Oliver, grinning over them. "Why don't we see if Artie's parents'll let him come? It'll be pretty neat."_

_Of course, Arthur's mum was only too happy to let him spend more time with his few friends. Everything was arranged and they had headed off the next weekend, several cars in a sort of convoy as one couldn't fit all of Jack and Oliver's friends. Arthur rode with Jack and Oliver and was grateful that none of their friends were there. Especially when he found himself nodding off due to having stayed awake during the night: he had never been so excited before and had, at points, gotten up to add something else to his bag._

_He succumbed to sleep and found himself with Jack and Oliver and all of their friends. Arthur was delighted to find that the people he had only met that morning had accepted him. They were laughing and playing and Arthur soon found himself skipping in a circle, holding Jack and Oliver's hands as they sang Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses. Their laughter nearly drowned out the voices that began to get louder the longer he was asleep. Frowning, Arthur looked around but they were in a white space and he could see no-one else around._

_"Arthur!" they whispered. "Arthur, come play with us!"_

_Their voices were strange, merged and morphing, distant and near. Arthur didn't like them and he shook his head. "No. No. I don't want to. Leave me alone."_

_"You have to come, my lovely. Come with us, Arthur."_

_"No!" shouted Arthur, glaring around as the circle came to a standstill. "Go away!"_

_There was a deadly silence. "Do what we say or the consequences will be dire."_

_And, with that, all Arthur's friends burst into fire. Arthur cried out and tried to pull away but Jack and Oliver held fast. The heat licked at Arthur's fingers and he began to cry, wishing for someone to help._

_"_ Artie _!" cried a voice and Arthur's eyes shot open to find himself propped up on Oliver's shoulder, tears running down his face. "Artie, sheesh. Are you okay?" asked Oliver. Looking around, Arthur could see that Jack was equally concerned. Quickly, he nodded and Oliver looped an arm around Arthur's waist to give him a hug. "It was just a bad dream, okay?"_

_"'Kay," agreed Arthur, sniffling. Taking a shaky breath, he resolved to forget about it. However, a feeling of unease spread through him and he suddenly wasn't as excited as the night before..._

* * *

_When they reached the place, Arthur couldn't contain his surprise. "Wow! It's so big!" He had never seen a mansion in person and a sense of adventure shot through him: the dream came back to him, though, and it was instantly quelled. Blinking up at it, he almost missed Jack's teasing._

_"Pfft! Of course. What haunted house is gonna be_ small _?"_

_Pouting, Arthur shot Jack a glare while the teenager laughed at him. Oliver shook his head but chuckled all the same. "Ah, don't pout, Artie. Just ignore him." Glancing around, Oliver gestured at the rest of their friends who were already heading up to the door where a middle-aged man stood, holding the door open. "Come on. Let's go claim a room!"_

_They hurried up and had almost slipped past the caretaker when Oliver's mum called them back. "Now, now, boys," she scolded them, "say thank you to Mr. Goodman."_

_"Thank you!" Arthur piped up immediately, thinking that it was possible that they had inconvenienced the man. The other two chorused their thanks behind him._

_"Can we go now?" asked Jack, rolling his eyes._

_"Of course, dear. Don't go too far from the others, though."_

_"We won't!" Jack and Oliver called over their shoulders as they dragged Arthur off._

_They went upstairs and found a free room which had four beds. The three of them settled in – or, rather, Arthur settled in as much as he could, frowning around. Dust covered most of the room, though the beds had been made with fresh sheets. There were two wardrobes and chest of drawers. In a corner stood a large mirror. Arthur gazed at it for a moment until, suddenly, something flashed within it. His breath catching, he felt his heart speeding up. Uneasiness returned and he thought of the dream again._

_"I'm not sure I like it here..." said Arthur, watching the mirror for any signs of anything untoward._

_"Are you scared?" teased Jack._

_"No!" exclaimed Arthur, not wanting his friends to think he really_ was _just a little kid. Regardless, he could feel that something was off about the house and he was sure that movement was the start of something bad. Again, he saw something out of the corner of his eye and, when he turned, he found himself looking at a potted plant. He tried to shake it off and looked back at his friends to see Oliver frowning at Jack._

_"Don't be mean to Artie," Oliver sighed. Turning, he smiled at Arthur kindly."Let's go see the garden, huh, Artie?"_

_Relieved to be getting out of the house, Arthur nodded. "Can we play a game?"_

_"We can try; it's getting dark."_

_They wandered back down the stairs. Everyone seemed to be too busy settling in to pay them much attention, their chattering and loud voices drifted out from their rooms. Everything was still, though, no signs of movement, till they were halfway down the main stairs. Then the door slammed shut. Their eyes widened as they stared at each other – none of them had seen someone closing it..._

_Frowning, Jack strode down the rest of the stairs and to the door. He grasped the handle, turned it and pulled. Then he pushed. Pushing and pulling, grunting with the effort, he seemed to be panicking. Oliver looked alarmed. Arthur wasn't sure what was going on._

_"Oh, no," breathed Oliver, stopping Jack's efforts. Jack turned to him, staring at him questioningly, though his gaze also contained worry. "This is like in that film..."_

_"Crap," said Jack. "We... we should probably-"_

_There was a scream from upstairs and the boys looked at each other, shocked. Without wasting another second, they turned and rushed towards the sound, hearing the others in their party also running. They followed Jack's mum for the last part of the journey and into a large, ornate bathroom._

_A brass bathtub with curling feet sat in the middle of the room. Cabinets at the side had obviously housed towels and things for washing. The old tiles on the floor and walls were dusty with disuse. Apart from this, Mr. Goodman was hanging by his ankle from the centre of the ceiling, above the bath. Something red dripped from his hands. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open, as if, Arthur thought, he was about to shout at them for slamming the front door._

_Jack and Oliver gasped. Jack's mother put her hands to her mouth, wide-eyed. Arthur looked between them, wondering what was going on. So he decided to ask: "Why's he hanging there? What's that red stuff?"_

_"Oh, God," murmured Jack's mum, turning to look at them. There was a strange, wild look in her eye, rather like when children at Arthur's school knew they were about to get caught for doing something naughty. He wondered if Mr. Goodman had done something bad. She fixed her gaze on her son. "Jack. Get Arthur out of here._ Now _."_

_"But, Mum," Jack breathed, still staring at Mr. Goodman._

_"No buts!"_

_"We can't get outside," said Oliver._

_"What?"_

_"The door... it's locked," breathed the boy._

_"What's going on?" asked Arthur, confused._

_"He's dead!" Jack tried to snap at him – it came out choked._

_Everything fell into place for Arthur; he had seen films and TV programmes before where people had died, though none had been as gruesome as the dead man before him. Now he knew what the red, dripping liquid was. Now he could realise the horror of the man's position._

_He screamed._

* * *

_After the image had been branded into his mind, Arthur was taken back to the bedroom with Jack and Oliver. Soon, the other boys congregated and the adults came to tell everyone they were trying to find a way out. Unfortunately for everyone, they all split up to try different doors and windows and most were killed on that first excursion._

_Two of the adults returned, having seen the horrors of their friends' bodies. They gathered the children and began a bid to smash open the windows with weapons found about the house. Nothing worked, however, and more people died, some of the children included._

_And, all throughout, Arthur could hear whispering, his name being called..._

_Eventually, he told the others but the adults dismissed it and the other children started to stay away from him. Only Oliver and Jack stood up for him, keeping him close._

_Then they began to come for Arthur, targeting him. Realising what was going on, most of the others sacrificed themselves, pushing the youngest out of the way of danger – and putting themselves in harm's way instead. Slowly, their numbers dwindled until, eventually, only Oliver and Jack were left with Arthur._

_Since the house seemed to have come alive, they ended up being chased into the basement. It was larger than they had thought; the large space had been converted into different rooms. Oliver and Jack locked them into one, making sure Arthur was pushed in first. Arthur hurried to a corner and huddled there, hugging his knees as his friends tried to make the room secure._

_Finished, Oliver hurried over to Arthur and scooped him into a hug. "It's okay, Art," he murmured into Arthur's hair. "We'll get you out-"_

_"I don't wanna if you- I don't want you to die," Arthur whispered, curling into himself more._

_"We won't," said Jack, firmly. Arthur glanced up to see him wandering around the edge of the room._

_"What're you doing?" he asked._

_"Looking for a way out."_

_"We already tried that," said Oliver, frowning._

_"Not down here, we didn't," Jack replied. He flashed Oliver and Arthur a grin._

_Blinking, Arthur sat up straighter as Oliver slowly stood and went over to help. He watched them listlessly, the light from the candles barely illuminating the scene. Once they had gotten out of reach of the candle sitting directly in front of him, Arthur turned his stare to the ground, reliving everything he had seen in the past few hours._

_He wished he was at home with his parents._

_It took him a few seconds to realise that he was staring at a white circle on the floor. Frowning, he reached forward and poked at it. Then he waved his hand above it – the circle disappeared and reappeared. His eyebrows raised in surprise. Before he could search for the source of the light, Oliver and Jack returned._

_"We don't have anything to take the boards off the window over there," Oliver explained. "There's no way to get through."_

_"Look!" said Arthur, pointing. "There's light here!"_

_"Ah!" Oliver stared at the light and then looked up, scanning the wall. Both he and Jack held their candles higher and, after a few seconds while they all held their breaths, Oliver gasped. "Look! It's another window but the gap between the boards is bigger. Jack, d'you think-?"_

_"Sure." Jack set his candle down and reached up, gripping the edge of the board. Grunting and straining, he pulled and pulled until there was a sudden crack and he stumbled backwards. Moonlight streamed in and Arthur gave a shout in excitement and relief. They'd finally be able to get out of here!_

_He watched Jack and Oliver pull the boards off to reveal a dirty window which looked out over an overgrown flowerbed. Arthur realised it must be set in the bottom of the wall and felt relieved. Some of the other options had been high enough to cause his stomach to turn upon considering them._

_With the increase in light, the room was much more visible and Arthur could see that it had been converted into a bedroom. The unmade bed was pushed into the corner and there were boxes piled in twos around the room, discarded knick-knacks poking out. Then there was the stand with the poker sitting on it, their luck obviously turning. "Ah!" Arthur cried and rushed over, heaving it off the stand and rushing back to his friends. "We can open the window with this!"_

_Jack, who had been struggling to push it up, grinned down at Arthur. "Great! Stand back." Both Oliver and Arthur obeyed. Gripping it tightly, Jack swung with all his might – and the poker bounced off._

_Far off, they heard a bang from further along basement. All of them turned, eyes wide. "They've found us..." Oliver whispered. "They're coming."_

_Cursing under his breath, Jack swung at the window again but only made himself stumble away. Oliver quickly grabbed it and tried it himself but only got the same result. Frowning, glancing at the door, Arthur decided he would try, too, and quickly hurried to pile of boxes. He pushed them over, straining against the weight and trying to keep the boxes as they were. Finally, he had them under the window and he climbed up it. Turning to the bewildered Jack and Oliver, he held out his hand. "Let me try."_

_"I don't think-" Jack began but Oliver nodded and handed it over._

_Carefully, Arthur climbed up to the top of the teetering pile and balanced himself. Then, standing as straight as he felt comfortable with, he gripped the poker tightly and swung it. He was surprised when he didn't meet the resistance he thought he would – there was a smashing noise and the tool formed a hole in one of the panes. Arthur gaped at it._

_"Wow..." said Oliver, sounding dumbfounded._

_"He musta hit a weak spot!" Jack cried. "Quick!" Obediently, Oliver grabbed Arthur and pulled him from the box. Jack took the poker and began to clean out the jagged glass from the small square. As he worked, there was a rattling noise from the door. Arthur froze and slowly looked up at Oliver: the older boy was watching the entrance, breathing heavily. "There!" exclaimed Jack. "You can get out of that, can't you, Artie?"_

_Arthur looked up at him and then at the hole in the window. He nodded._

_"Good. I'm gonna lift you up so you can crawl through, 'kay?"_

_"'Kay..." said Arthur sadly, sniffling slightly, beginning to get worried. What if they got close to leaving and the things caught them?_

_"Stop that," said Oliver, more sternly than normal. It took Arthur by surprise. "You can't cry – you're not allowed to."_

_"Why not?"_

_"'Cause you gotta be brave," said Jack, far kinder than he usually was. "You've got to get help."_

_"So when you get through the hole," said Oliver, not letting Arthur absorb the request, "don't look back. Just run, got it?"_

_"What? But what about you two?" asked Arthur, eyes wide. Didn't they need help to get out, too?_

_The boys glanced at each other. Before either of them could respond, there was a noise, a terrifying noise, something between a roar and a laugh. Arthur clutched at his chest, the fear making his chest tighten: it was almost impossible to breathe. Then, before he could stop them, he was lifted by Jack and shoved at the hole. Instinctively, he crawled and wriggled through, scrambling to his feet on the other side._

_"Go. Go, Artie! Run!_ Run _!" Jack shouted._

 _"And_ don't look back _!" Oliver added._

_Biting his lip, Arthur considered turning back and making sure they managed to get out. However, something in Oliver's tone pushed him forward and he found himself running in a straight line. The house was surrounded by hedges and woodland but Arthur didn't bother trying to find a gate; he merely pushed his way through, ignoring the scratches stinging his arms and face._

_As he ran, the eerie giggling began again, his name following him. He covered his ears and kept going. "Shut up!" he sobbed. A rock tripped him and he was suddenly sprawled on the ground. The voices got louder but he didn't pause, pushing himself to his feet. His knees throbbed in pain yet he ignored them and tried to run rather than limp._

_Finally, he burst out onto the road – right in front of a passing car. The bright lights blinded him and he threw an arm up as tyres screeched. Thankfully, the car didn't slam into him, stopping centimetres from his body, though he still fell over in surprise. A couple hurried out, asking questions and Arthur babbled out a garbled explanation about people being dead. So the couple called the police and, when they turned up, despite Arthur's protests, they entered the house. They came out alive and requesting back-up._

_Everything was a blur after that, confusing and upsetting. He didn't allow himself to sleep, not even when his parents arrived at the police station in the morning. His mother clung to him, refusing to let him out of his sight._

_Once it was explained to his parents what Arthur had been telling the police, the adults decided he had post-traumatic stress disorder and that he needed a therapist. So he was shipped off to one when he got home and after he had been forced to go to bed and sleep. Nightmares swam through his mind, each one more horrible than the last, Jack and Oliver's bloodied faces present in each._

_They had never escaped the house._

_The guilt ate at Arthur and the therapist tried to tell him it wasn't his fault. Arthur refused to believe her, though he quickly realised that he couldn't tell anyone the truth of what had occurred. He drew into himself, refusing to speak in school, unable to bring himself to make friends and pushing away those he had infrequently spoke to before. His teachers noticed a drop in his performance at school._

_And every night he watched his friends die over and over again._

_Then the hypnosis was suggested. They had already tried it before to bring out his 'repressed memories' – the police had thought that he may have seen the_ human _killer and tried to forget. It had worked well. Too well in Arthur's opinion. He had had to relive the events until his screaming made the hypnotist bring him back to the present._

 _This time, though, the therapist suggested_ repressing _the memories so he could forget and move on. His parents had agreed and, after some reassurances, Arthur did, too. So he relived the night once more before completely forgetting about it._

_Save for the nightmares which continued to plague him on and off for the rest of his life._

* * *

_Arthur's eyes flew open as his memories settled and everything fell into place. Panting slightly, he glanced around, wondering where he was. Where was Carlito? Was he all right? Had anyone else been injured?_

_Then he noted the blank white surrounding him and he struggled to hold in a gasp. A pressure on his hands made him look down and he noticed he was holding someone else's hands. Realising it was a dream, he dreaded to see who was there. Were they the things that were trying to kill everyone?_

_Slowly, he lifted his gaze. He only got so far before he saw who they were; Jack and Oliver as he had last seen them, both of them clutching his hands tight. They only reached his chest in height and he stared at them. Before he could speak or do anything, blood began to drip from their heads, chest and down their arms, staining Arthur's hands._

_Then he lifted his gaze, wondering if he could escape – only to find that they stood within a circle of his friends. There was Feliciano, struggling to keep upright as the parts of his body tried to stick together. Antonio was on his hands, swaying. Myriam was missing her head but she was keeping Mickaela's body in the air. Matthew had a hole in his chest and Arthur could see the blank landscape behind him. Beside Matthew stood Carlito, an arrow in his chest – the image of Carl was flickering, going between him being whole and being injured. Directly across from him, furthest away from him were Lovino, Alfred and Francis. There was nothing untoward about them._

_Without warning, they began to skip around in a circle, all of them singing Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses. Arthur didn't, though, staring around for a way to escape. The whispering started at that point._

_"Artie. Artie! Come play, Artie!"_

_"No!" he yelled, finally finding his voice. "Fuck off!"_

_"That's not nice, Artie..." The voices sounded angry for once._

_Before he could brace himself for an attack, Carlito suddenly disappeared. They continued skipping around and, after a full cycle, Carlito reappeared, the arrow gone but the wound clear to see. Arthur struggled to hold in a sob; did that mean he was dead?_

_"Come_ play _, Arthur."_

_Raising his eyes to his three unaffected friends, Arthur hesitated. If he left with whoever wanted him, would these three be safe? Was that all he had to do? He was awfully tempted to put an end to it all._

_And then he noticed the shadows._

_They were encroaching from the white blankness but were also hard to see. When he spotted them, he realised they were spiralling around the three who were still alive. Brow furrowed, Arthur knew then that there could be no escape for his friends if he gave in. Growling and, without thinking, he broke the circle, shaking Jack and Oliver from his grasp. He rushed forward, intending to reach the three before they were smothered by the shadows._

_But, suddenly, he was on fire. It was all over him and it was hot, so hot, painful. Gasping, he flailed, trying to remove his clothes only to realise he was naked. The pain intensified and he screamed and screamed and-_


	8. Sacrificial Lamb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's aliiiiiive!
> 
> Hi there! Since it's come to October again, I decided to continue this. I meant to do so during the rest of the year but... ^^" I got distracted with other things.
> 
> Also, I apologise if my writing style's changed - I suppose that'll happen after a year... ^^"
> 
> Anyways, I hope you remember what happened up to now. I could recap but, eh, I think I'd be too vague. Like: Arthur and his friends go into an abandoned house for shelter but are trapped by supernatural beings who start to kill them off one by one. Arthur has dreams which are more like memories of when this situation happened before and, after a blow to the head, he remembers what happened the first time. A foreboding dream jars him from unconsciousness...

Arthur gasped as his eyes flew open. He registered that he lay on a stone floor, his arms at his sides. From his right came voices, their words unclear. There was also a lot of banging and the sound of something being dragged. Was someone getting taken away? Where was he? What was going on?

Staring into the darkness, Arthur stayed still, breathing heavily as he tried to sort out his memories. Gradually, his eyes became accustomed to the little light there was and he realised that the ceiling of this room was lower than the others in the house. It looked a lot like the basement in his Welsh cousin's place.

Thinking of large houses, Arthur's memories returned – both those from when he was a child and what had led to him remembering. Frowning, he tried to remember the last thing he had seen. The front door. Alfred's alarmed face. Falling backwards. The threat of the arrows came to the forefront of his mind and, worried he was dying, he pushed himself into a sitting position. His head protested this; the room spun and his head throbbed. Gingerly, he touched the back of his head and winced at the bolt of pain which shot through him.

He had hit his head, he remembered. Because someone had pushed him. Out of the path of the arrow and-

Carlito.

“He's awake!” came Alfred's voice suddenly, closer than Arthur was expecting. He turned to his friend to see him relieved and dropping to his knees beside Arthur. “You're awake,” he sighed and drew Arthur into a hug. Over his shoulder, Arthur watched as Francis and Lovino entered through a narrow door. Francis smiled weakly at Arthur: Lovino surveyed the room.

“What...?” Arthur croaked. “Where's Carlito? Is he-?”

“I'm sorry, Arthur,” Francis murmured, moving towards Arthur to squeeze his shoulder. “He pushed you out of the path of an arrow – it hit his heart. We're the only ones left.”

Arthur couldn't stop a pained sound escaping him. “No. No, not like _then_...”

Francis moved away so he could circle around Alfred. He dropped to his knees as well and hugged Arthur around the waist. Arthur let himself lean into both Alfred and Francis for a moment, relishing in the human contact after the memories and the dream.

The touching reunion was interrupted by Lovino. “As much as I love being a fourth wheel here, could we figure out what we're going to do next?”

Alfred nodded and both he and Francis drew away from Arthur. They both helped him to his feet where he felt dizzy and had to latch onto Alfred's arm to keep himself upright. “There's not much we _can_ do,” Francis told Lovino as he hovered around Arthur. As much for Arthur's benefit as Lovino's, he added, “We've been chased into the basement. There's lots of little rooms down here and we managed to barricade the main door with old pieces of furniture. Our weapons have been reduced to the poker, the toasting fork, the shovel and your knives. And there's no way out of here, as far as we've searched – but we haven't gone far as we didn't want to leave you alone.”

“We were chased by a _suit of armour_ , Artie- Arthur,” Alfred put in. “A suit of armour.”

“It might be able to break down the door.”

“We need to find a way out,” Lovino said. “Now.”

For a moment, Arthur didn't respond, letting Alfred keep him upright. Then he sighed and said, “I remembered. I remembered more. They... sacrificed themselves for me.”

“Oh, Arthur,” whispered Francis, finally giving in and putting his hands on Arthur's hips to steady him.

“The last two, my best friends... Oliver and Jack...” Arthur paused to swallow before he continued. “They helped me escape.”

“How did you get out?” Lovino demanded, taking a step towards the trio.

“I escaped from the basement,” Arthur told them. “There was a window which we smashed open and I was able to climb through.”

“Then there might be a window around here?” Lovino suggested. “We should start searching.”

“Arthur's still disoriented,” Francis said, frowning at Lovino. “Give him a few moments.”

“No, he's right,” said Arthur, letting go of Alfred. He slipped from Francis's grip and shakily made his way to the door. “We need to do this before they come back.”

“At least wait till you can stand on your own,” Francis protested, grabbing Arthur's elbow before he could get very far.

“I'm fine,” insisted Arthur, pulling away once again.

“Let's just get this over and done with,” said Lovino, stalking towards the door. Arthur followed him, using the wall as a support.

Upon exiting the small room, Lovino headed towards a massive pile of junk. There were old desks which had been cleaved in half, the two neat halves piled on top of each other. Heavy filing cabinets leant against the pile, pushing against the closed door. What looked like a moth-eaten chaise longue had been thrown haphazardly on top. Other large, misshapen things, both made of heavy wood and of metal were all interconnected and Arthur could see that it would be damned difficult for anyone to open the door.

Any human, at least.

They had left their weapons and a candelabra on top of a bedside table, shoved against the pile, and Lovino lifted both the poker and a candelabra. Arthur checked he still had his knives and left the toasting fork and the shovel to Alfred and Francis. The other two emerged from the room soon after, Francis holding a candelabra with only two candles. Without a discussion about where they were going, they moved as one and walked to their left.

Peering through the gloom, Arthur soon saw what the others had described. A long corridor stretched out of sight. As above, so below: doors broke the monotony of the stone walls, one mirroring the other. The narrow corridor began to make Arthur feel trapped and he had to grip his elbow tightly to keep himself from panicking. Would they be able to make it out of here?

Lovino took the initiative and open the first door on the left. He hefted the candelabra and then shook his head. As he closed the door, Francis passed Arthur and did the same on the right. With a shrug of a shoulder, he closed it. They continued down the corridor in this way, Arthur and Alfred in the centre, occasionally looking over their shoulders to make sure they weren't being followed. Every room they came to yielded no escape route and Arthur soon found himself biting his lip to keep from whimpering. Maybe last time he had been lucky, maybe they wouldn't find anything, maybe they would all die. With nothing to do, he could only think of the shadows and the whispers – and the dream.

As long as he could keep these three safe, everything would be all right. Telling himself that calmed him somewhat as he kept his eyes peeled for any danger.

Some way along the corridor, Arthur spotted a corner ahead, just barely. It looked as though the corridor led around the outside of the house. Looking back, he noted that they could still see the barricade somewhat. He was glad it hadn't been tested – how long could it hold out against unnatural powers?

No sooner had he thought that than a bang echoed along the corridor. As he had been looking back, he was able to see the pile wobble and he stilled, twisting to watch in horror as another impact on the door caused the chaise longue to start to slide from its haphazard place.

“They've found us,” Alfred breathed. Looking over, Arthur saw that he was staring at the barricade, too, standing close to Arthur.

“Don't just stand there!” Lovino suddenly snapped. “Hurry up!”

With that, Arthur and Alfred hurried forward. Alfred seemed determined to rush to the next door but Arthur grabbed his arm, having had an idea. Quickly, he filched a candle from Lovino's candelabra. He carefully handed it to Alfred before turning to Francis who had already seen what he had been doing and gave him one of his own. It was as Arthur rushed to the next door on the right that he realised that they were running out of time: the candles were just a third of their original height.

Behind them, they could hear clanging and clashing, banging and the cracking of wood, scraping noises and giggling. It lent a frenzied quality to their movements and Arthur almost dropped his candle a few times. When he reached the corner, Arthur was stopped in his tracks by a bang louder than those that had gone before. The four friends stopped and looked back the way they had come. However, the candlelight did not stretch as far as the barricade – there was no way of knowing if the barricade still blocked the door or if the things had gotten through.

The sudden realisation that even if they hadn't come through yet, they would soon, had Arthur spinning back around and rushing for the first door on the left. His movement prompted the others to leave the doors open and run to the next. Throwing them open and looking in, however, provided no answers to their dilemma and Arthur was growing more worried. It was looking increasingly like the last time and he wondered just who would be the one to say they'd hold them off. Hoping beyond hope that they would find a window in the next one, Arthur and his friends could only continue onwards.

They came upon another corner and turned along it, rushing between doors. Behind them, Arthur could hear his breathy name. Since it would only serve to panic the others, he kept that knowledge to himself but he began to look behind them even more, sure they were catching up.

This cost him as he stumbled over a box tucked beside the next door. He went flying and lost his candle, the cylindrical wax rolling away before extinguishing and vanishing in the darkness. The thud from his fall didn't go unnoticed and Alfred was at his side immediately. Without thinking, the American put down the candle. It rolled away from them and the light went out, leaving the corridor in darkness as Francis and Lovino continued to look in rooms.

“Jesus, Arthur, you okay?” Alfred murmured, helping the younger to his feet.

“There's a box,” Arthur replied, crouching down. “I wonder if there's something in here that could-”

From behind them came the sudden crashing sound of footsteps. It seemed the suit of armour was advancing on them. The noise echoed off the stone walls and Arthur had no way of knowing how close they were: could they be just around the corner? With his breath caught in his throat, Arthur watched the corner, wide-eyed. The footsteps didn't stop, continuing on at a steady pace, getting closer.

“Leave that!” exclaimed Lovino, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Come on!” With that, he hauled Arthur to his feet again and Arthur stumbled to follow Alfred and Francis who had run to the next set of doors.

Moving past them, Lovino accompanied Arthur to the next door on the left – and they finally found something beyond the dark and stone of the tiny rooms. In this one there were several wooden boxes. A wooden bench sat beside the door, facing the far wall. And, on the far wall, were several wooden boards. Arthur knew immediately that they had to be boarded up windows, just like before.

Quickly, Arthur rushed to the one opposite the door. Slipping one of the silver knives from his belt, he slid the weapon between the board and the wall and began to wriggle it. Slowly but surely, it began to move the board. However, even as he worked, he could hear those footsteps, inevitably gaining on them.

“Here,” said Lovino, suddenly, coming up beside Arthur and handing him the poker. “That'll be better. Give me that.” They exchanged weapons and then Lovino turned away. Arthur twisted to watch him, spotting that he was headed for the door where Francis and Alfred were hovering, discussing something.

“What are you doing?” he asked all three of them, his heart sinking.

“These two,” Lovino answered, not looking back at Arthur as he pushed Alfred and Francis to either side, “are going to barricade the door.” He paused to take Francis's candelabra; Francis provided no resistance.

“What about you?” Arthur demanded, turning to face the trio fully.

“I'm going to buy you some time.” And, without even looking at them, he strode through the door and pulled it closed.

Arthur stood frozen, staring at it. Then he cried out and, dropping the poker, started forward. “No!” he shouted as Francis caught him. “No, come back!”

Francis wordlessly pulled him away from the door, heading as far from it as he could in the cluttered space. Struggling, Arthur tried to prise himself from Francis's grip. But the Frenchman only clung to him tighter as Alfred picked up a board and dropped it into place across the door, barring the things access.

Blocking Lovino's return.

Defeated, Arthur slumped into Francis's arms and allowed himself to be guided to the bench. He dropped down and sat there, staring at his feet. The other two silently moved around him and he heard one of them start to work on the boards at the window. When Lovino's yells started, Arthur shifted, staring at his shaking hands instead. It was just like the last time; down to three with an escape in sight.

And he'd be sent out first.

In the corridor, Lovino suddenly screamed before he was cut off. Arthur clenched his fists. He wouldn't let this come to the inevitable conclusion.

Standing, he looked up at Francis and Alfred, dim light surrounding them. They had managed to get the boards off one of the small row of windows but had stopped to talk about something. “What are you doing?” Arthur demanded as he strode towards them.

Turning to him, both Alfred and Francis looked surprised. Arthur supposed his anger – at himself, these creatures, at everyone for sacrificing themselves for him – showed on his face. Francis was the first to recover and shrugged. “We're not sure if they'll figure out where we are if we try to smash the window. I was just saying to Alfred that we should attempt to find a window we can open.”

“There's no time for that-” Alfred began to argue but Arthur didn't stop to listen. He grabbed the poker from Alfred's hands and, without hesitation, swung it at the window.

Surprisingly, the window shattered, glass sprinkling onto the stone. Larger pieces remained in the frame, dangerously sticking out to snag them in their escape. Arthur swept them away with the poker until it was relatively safe, the jagged edge of the frame the only danger. He turned to look at his shocked friends.

“It was so simple...” Alfred mumbled, his expression falling into one of guilt.

“I-” began Francis but they all froze when they heard the crashing footsteps once again. Alarmed, Francis's eyes widened as he stared at the door which seemed flimsy in the face of something that could easily sweep away barricades. “Mer- Arthur! Hurry and get-!”

“No!” Arthur snapped. “You two are taller than me; you'll take longer to get through. You two go first and I'll follow.”

“But-” Alfred began, glancing between the window and the door.

“They are after you,” Francis said, slowly, as if trying to make Arthur understand. “We cannot risk them-”

“I don't give a shit,” Arthur said. “I refuse to go until you two are safe. I'm not leaving you behind. Not again...”

The trio fell silent, the only sound to fill it being those horrible footsteps. And, on the edge of Arthur's hearing, quiet giggles. Arthur watched the door warily, wondering how much longer they had. A tinkling sound made him turn back to his friends to find Alfred, the sleeves of his jacket pulled over his hands, preparing to climb out.

“I'll go first,” he said, his voice unnaturally quiet. Arthur sighed in relief and came forward to assist him if he needed to. Francis moved to his other side and wordlessly waited to see if he was needed. Luckily, Alfred was strong enough on his own and he pushed himself up and through the window. When his waist hit the window's edge, he let go of the frame and wriggled through, using his arms to pull himself forward till he could bend his knees. Then he crawled away until he could turn around to face them, grinning. “It worked!” he declared.

“Of course it did,” Arthur said, relieved. “Francis. You next.”

“I-”

“Go,” Arthur interrupted Francis, sending him a glare. He relaxed into a pleading expression when he noted how conflicted Francis looked. The poor man wanted to leave but he didn't want to leave Arthur behind, especially now that the footsteps were dangerously close. “Please, Francis,” he begged, glancing at the door.

Taking a deep breath, Francis nodded and moved forward. When he was in place, he grabbed hold of the frame on either side and pulled himself up. Arthur stood behind him, helping him out by grabbing hold of his hips and pushing him up as well. Once he was halfway out, Alfred grabbed Francis around the waist and hauled him outside. The two of them collapsed in a heap; Alfred gave a little laugh of triumph. Arthur smiled fondly at them, happy he'd gotten two friends out at least.

And that was the moment the footsteps suddenly stopped.

Stilling, Arthur waited, wondering what had happened. Had they given up because they were escaping? Did they think only Arthur was left and they could capture him now? What were they waiting for?

A loud bang on the door gave Arthur his answer. Jolting in surprise, he spun to look at it, wide-eyed as he watched another impact. It forced the door inwards: Arthur could see it curve under the strain. The wooden slat across the door cracked as he watched, shifting back to normal once whatever was hitting the door pulled away.

They were coming; they were here.

“Arthur!” cried Francis from behind him, reminding him that an escape was still possible.

Spinning back to his friends, Arthur grabbed hold of the frame and pulled himself up. His desperation lent him strength and he was able to get his head and shoulders through the opening. Just as he did, however, he heard a horrible splintering noise from behind him followed by a couple of thuds – the plank of wood had fallen.

Ignoring it, however, Arthur pushed himself through, Francis and Alfred's hands reaching for him. He wriggled through as he heard the door being battered again. It was only a matter of time till it fell. And fall it did, just as Arthur's knees hit the frame. Feeling that accomplishment, Arthur almost cheered, quickly bending his legs and shuffling forwards so he was facing his friends and safe. He grinned at their relieved expressions and shook off their hands so he could rise on his own, ignoring any noise coming from behind him.

There was only silence behind him.

Before he could think on those implications, he felt something wrap around his ankles which were still sticking out over the windowsill – and inside. His eyes widened: he was able to see Francis's smile fall into a horror-stricken expression; Alfred's grin began to fade. Arthur wasn't sure he dared to look behind him.

He didn't need to. With an abrupt yank, his legs were pulled out from under him as he was dragged backwards. He let out a yelp as he landed on the windowsill, the wind rushing from his lungs as pain radiated through his chest. Whatever had latched onto him continued pulling so that he slid backwards through the window. Crying out, Francis and Alfred leapt forward, grabbing his arms. However, the thing was too strong and Arthur slipped from their grasp. Frantic, he caught the window frame, wincing as glass dug into his palms.

“Arthur!” Alfred yelled, dropping to his knees and grabbed one of Arthur's forearms. He heaved with all his might. “No! We're not-” He cut himself off with a grunt as he slid forward and almost toppled through the window himself.

Looking between him and Francis, Arthur shook his head. He wasn't about to let them be dragged into this again, not now that they had gotten out. Catching Alfred's eye, he gave him a small smile. Afterwards, he turned his smile on Francis who seemed to realise what was going on.

“Run,” Arthur told them, voice calm though his heart was racing. “Run. They can leave the house. Get beyond the hedges. Run!” Then he shook Alfred's grip from his arm and pushed himself away from the window and back into the house. He landed, hard, on the floor, bashing his chin and elbows and driving the air from his lungs: he couldn't scream as he was dragged across the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes up for being un-updated for so long! This last bit, by the way, is why I started this story - just the image of Arthur being dragged back into a haunted house. Though, the original image went much smoother with less injuries for Arthur... Sorry, Artie!


	9. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O What is this? Two updates in 24 hours? Yes, you are all blessed!
> 
> (I started writing the last chapter a week ago but I had a day off and got it done in three days.)

"Arthur!" both Alfred and Francis shouted.

Realising that they weren't going to do as he'd told them, Arthur grabbed hold of the leg of the bench. He had to make sure they left and, if they didn't, he needed to be in the room in case they got into trouble. Otherwise, he would let these things drag him far away so he wouldn't bother either of them ever again. Squinting up at the window, trying to ignore the pain, Arthur tried to make out what they were doing. However, their figures cast shadows and had plunged the room into a deeper darkness.

Obviously, though, they did not intend to leave the grounds.

Frustrated, Arthur tried to pull himself towards them, tried to catch his breath to shout at them. The things in the shadows were far stronger than him; he began to be pulled towards the door regardless of the heavy bench he clung to. It dragged along the ground, screeching in Arthur's ears. Wincing, he changed his tactic and reached up for the arm instead. Catching hold of it, he pulled himself upwards – and was immediately brought crashing to the ground once again as the creatures pulled him away before he had enough leverage to form a resistance. He cried out, ignoring the giggling surrounding him as they pulled him away from the bench.

Letting himself be dragged for the moment, he looked up to see one of his friends with their legs dangling _inside_ the room. Frustrated, Arthur yelled at them. "No! Idiots! Get out of here!"

"Hang in there, Artie!" Alfred replied, completely ignoring him.

"Don't you dare be a hero!" Arthur snapped, grabbing hold of the door-frame once he had been dragged through the splintered remains of the door. He pulled himself back towards the room and was alarmed to see the shadow of someone standing in the room. "No-!" he managed before a more powerful tug sent him flying away and around the corner. He was barely on the ground, almost flying with the force and pull of the creatures. Every so often, he hit the stone floor, hurting his shins and elbows and chin.

Then the force disappeared and he dropped in the middle of the corridor. Something clinked as he shifted, wondering what had happened. Where had the creatures gone? Arthur grimaced as he felt the phantom touch of their shadowy tendrils around his ankles. He struggled onto his hands and knees, blinking in the darkness.

Except, as he waited for something to happen, he realised that he could see the outline of doors along the corridor. As well as that, he could see that the clinking noise had come from an abandoned knife. The light was so dim that he couldn't tell whether it was silver or iron so he checked his belt, wondering if his second knife was still there. Since it was, he reached out and picked the knife up.

A slippery substance on the hilt made him drop it with a clatter.

Freezing, Arthur turned his head to the right, hoping that what he thought might be there _wasn't_. Of course, with all that happened that night, he really shouldn't have expected anything else. For there, eyes wide, lay Lovino. Beside him, the dropped candelabra lay on its side, the guttering candle barely alight. It lent its flickering light to the gruesome scene: all along Lovino's body were bloody, horrible, huge holes. Some of his bones appeared to be broken.

It seemed that Lovino had had just as torturous a death as his brother.

Putting a hand to his mouth, Arthur swallowed, trying not to make a noise – if the things had lost track of him, they may come back if he made a sound. Slowly, Arthur pushed himself to his feet, careful of the pools of blood he could now see. Gently, carefully, he picked up the candelabra. As he righted it, he realised that he was running out of light and running out of time. He had to get back to the room with the window before the other two tried to save him.

One step back the way he came: that was all he took before the phantom force pulled him backwards again. The feeling of the tendrils had clearly been where they rested, waiting for him to see his dead friend, waiting to torture him. Once again, he toppled over but, this time, he landed not only on the stone floor but also in the puddles of blood. Unable to stop himself, he screamed at the feeling of Lovino's blood smearing his face and hands and clothes.

Somehow, even through his disgust and pain, he held onto the candelabra. Gripping it tightly, he tried to twist himself as he was dragged along the ground. Holding the light aloft, he was able to see the tendrils snaking back along the corridor. What they belonged to, however, was hidden at the moment. Annoyed, he waved the light source, hoping it would disperse them. When nothing happened, he gave a defeated sigh which turned into a grunt as he was pulled along. It looked as though they were unafraid of light, despite being shadows.

Then he remembered what the candelabra appeared to be made of. He hoped he was right for, if it was some other sort of metal, he doubted it would work. Before he could think on it further, Arthur aimed for one of the tendrils and swiped at it with the candelabra. There was a barely audible shriek and the tendril dissipated, though the one attached to his other ankle remained. It continued to pull as Arthur shifted his free leg away from the creatures: Arthur ended up on one knee, his other leg pulled at a painful angle.

Groaning, Arthur used his leverage in an attempt to pull himself free. The thing was strong, though, and he was barely able to move his leg. When he tried to use the same trick as before, the tendril of darkness shifted but held on, the shadows swirling out of the way of the weapon. He kept swiping, however, as he pulled and soon realised that, due to its avoidance of the iron, the powerfully strong force pulling at him had lessened. Using all his strength, Arthur put his free foot under him and struggled to rise, in danger of toppling over.

Suddenly, as if a veil had been lifted and he could see, he heard shouts from the escape route. Were Alfred and Francis still there? Why hadn't they done as he told him? Or were those shouts from the creatures, intent on luring him to his doom? He was so distracted by the new development that he lost his balance and almost fell. As he threw out his hands to stop himself, he almost dropped the candelabra. In the same instant, he felt something wrap around his free ankle again. Before he could do anything to stop it, he was tugged by both shadowy tendrils and he fell, hard, on his face once again. His already precarious grip on the candelabra failed and it flew from his grasp, the harsh movements extinguishing the faltering flame.

Arthur was plunged into darkness.

As soon as he was, he felt things grip at him, at his arms, at his hair, at his clothes, at his legs, tugging him everywhere and in one direction. He cried out in surprise and fear and tried to rise to his hands and knees. If he could crawl away, he reasoned, he'd be able to get away. But the grips tightened and they pulled more harshly; he yelled in pain, tears falling down his face. The creatures seemed to like that, laughing in his ears. He thought he could feel something licking at his cheeks and he shuddered.

_"Artie!"_

_"Come play with us!"_

_"Ring-a-ring o' roses..."_

"Leave me alone!" Arthur screamed, still struggling against them.

_"You're no fun."_

_"Meanie!"_

_"Come play, come play!"_

_"A pocketful of posies!"_

"I said-!" Arthur growled, pulling away from the things holding one of his arms. It only served to allow the grips on his other arm to tighten their grasp. However, as he shifted, he realised that there were no hands or tendrils holding onto his waist. He remembered his belt and the knife still tucked there. Shifting again, Arthur began to pull his arms away, trying to reach his belt. However, he barely got a few inches before his arms were abruptly pulled to either side. It was such a forceful action that he winced at the pain.

_"A-tishoo! A-tishoo!"_

_"If you won't come play..."_

_"Artie, Artie!"_

_"We'll-"_

Someone roared and, suddenly, the things released him. He collapsed to the floor at the abrupt release, barely catching himself in time to stop himself hitting his chin once again. Above him, he heard the swishing of something being waved through the air and he blinked a few times, wondering what was going on now. As he did so, he suddenly realised that he could see again and that he was facing the broken barricade at the main door. Looking up, he gaped at the sight of his saviours: Francis held the remaining candelabra and Alfred was swiping at unnatural shadows with the poker.

Pushing himself up to a kneeling position, Arthur watched in awe as Alfred fought off the shadows that had been dragging him away. Beside him, Francis looked equally impressive, batting away a few threatening tendrils with the shovel as they tried to attack him and his light. Once they had beaten them back to the door, Alfred and Francis turned back to Arthur and hurried towards him.

"What are you doing here?!" Arthur exclaimed, remembering his orders at the window. "I told you to leave!"

"Never mind that!" Francis snapped, dropping the shovel and grabbing Arthur's right arm. Alfred grabbed his other arm and they lifted him, starting to half-carry, half-drag Arthur backwards and away from the barricade. "Let's just get out of here!"

"If we're fast enough, we can all get out before they come back," Alfred said, rather optimistically, in Arthur's opinion. He still brandished the poker and was swiping at the shadows, both normal and unnatural, all of them dancing in the candlelight. Arthur felt that saying that voicing Alfred's belief that they'd escape was destined to make their venture fail but he kept that opinion to himself.

As they hurried around the corner, Arthur decided he would rather run himself than hamper his friends' movements. He jerked his arms and, miraculously, Alfred and Francis realised what he wanted. They let go and Arthur turned to run, stumbling a little with a wince: his ankles hurt from the pressure of the things' grips. Not sure how long he could keep running, Arthur took longer strides. Alfred and Francis stuck close to him, both of them panting.

Behind them, Arthur could hear an odd slithering sound. It was like something was brushing through foliage. Arthur didn't dare look back lest he stumble and have those things all over him again. They continued on until, finally, they reached the room with the window.

Here, Arthur slowed to a stop, letting his friends hurry forward a few stops. When they noticed he was gone, they spun, eyes wide. Arthur looked at them, prepared to order them through the window. But they didn't argue: Alfred grabbed Francis's arm and pulled him to the window where he pushed him up until Francis could crawl out. Then he climbed up and crawled forward a few inches. Alfred turned to him and, wordlessly, held out his hand.

Relieved, Arthur ran the short distance between them, jumped and grabbed Alfred's hand. Arthur winced as the cuts on his hands protested but he held Alfred's hand tightly. The American wasted no time in pulling him through, collapsing back on the grass beyond. Arthur collapsed on top of him, amazed that he was in the fresh air. He breathed deeply, the fact that the three of them had escaped the house sinking in slowly. Huffing and puffing, he slowly rolled off of Alfred so that he lay on his back, able to see the stars above.

A laugh escaped him, joyous and relieved.

The house roared in protest.

"Shit," he murmured and scrambled to his feet. "We need to get away from here."

"Right," said Alfred, getting to his feet.

"Where will we be safe?" Francis asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Beyond the hedges," Arthur replied, pointing towards a dark barrier in the distance.

"More running?" asked Alfred, frowning.

"Yeah."

"Let's go, then."

They started off, running as fast as they could towards it. Fear lent Arthur strength to carry on, the end in sight. They'd be free soon. It would all be over.

Laughter from behind him made him stumble a little but he caught himself and continued onwards. That eerie sound had almost made him freeze. The three of them picked up the pace. Their progress seemed too slow and Arthur was beginning to fear that this was all an illusion, Alfred and Francis were already dead, they were 'playing' with him-

He chanced a glance behind them and cried out in horror.

The shadows that had plagued him throughout his time in the house were reaching for them. It appeared to Arthur as though the house had grown a hand, its fingers spread as it followed them. All of that darkness came flying across the garden; Arthur was sure they would reach the trio before they could get to the hedges.

Stumbling, he almost fell but Alfred must have heard him for he grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him upright. They rushed onwards, the hedge seemingly closer than they were the last time Arthur had looked. Alfred kept his grip on Arthur as they ran, as if he feared the next time Arthur stumbled he would fall and be caught. On his other side, Francis was clutching at his side, puffing far too much. Arthur prayed he wouldn't fall behind.

Thankfully, they soon reached the towering hedge. As they came up to it, Alfred released Arthur's arm. Startled, Arthur almost staggered into Francis's path. He managed to keep running in a straight line and was soon only a few steps from the foliage when he felt something on his back. There were two points of pressure – one in the middle of his shoulder blades and one at the small of his back. Glancing back, he realised that Alfred and Francis had their hands on his back. Before he could question their actions, they pushed him, sending him flying into the hedge and through the first few branches. They scratched him as he stumbled through, righting himself to find himself imprisoned in a mass of leaves and twigs.

Behind him, the crashing progress of Alfred and Francis indicated that they'd both made it into the hedge as well. Arthur inhaled deeply but paused, realising they weren't out of the woods yet. After all, the hedges were on the grounds of the estate and, if they could follow them over the lawn, they could probably attack them in the hedges.

Arthur began to push his way through the hedges, more of the twigs and branches scratching him. He kept pushing forwards, however, merely closing his eyes in case they'd be poked out. Rustling sounds were all around him and he started to doubt that closing his eyes was a good idea: what could possibly be moving around in front of him? Soon, Arthur was sure he could hear giggling coming from all around. But was it real or was he just panicking and imagining things?

All of a sudden, his hands stopped encountering branches, the chill air hitting them almost making him recoil back towards the creatures stalking them. Instead, he shouldered his way through and fell out of the hedge on the other side. He looked up to check he hadn't gotten turned around and was relieved to see a mirroring hedge across from him, bordering a road which ran out of sight to his left and right. Sighing in relief, he stayed kneeling on the ground, recovering his breath.

Muffled noises from behind him alerted Arthur to the fact that his friends were nowhere in sight. Gasping, he shot to his feet and spun around, half-expecting his friends' bodies to drop from the hedge. Instead, he spotted two right arms sticking out of the hedge, shifting constantly as if their owners were struggling with something but refusing to retract their arms. Arthur stared, wide-eyed, for a moment. A muffled cry he recognised as Alfred sent him leaping into action, shooting across the space.

Grabbing both of their forearms in a firm grip, Arthur adjusted his position, preparing to pull. Both arms twisted, perhaps trying to break away, until they suddenly latched onto him. With a nod to himself, Arthur dug in his heels and hauled at the arms. Almost instantly, both his friends came flying out of the hedge. Arthur barely had time to register their ragged shirts before they were upon him. All three of them fell onto the road in a heap, Alfred and Francis pinning Arthur there.

For some moments, the three of them breathed deeply (Arthur having some trouble from the combined weight of his friends), taking in their sudden change in situation. There was a silence, broken only by the wind gently rustling the hedges. Something wet dripped onto Arthur's cheek and broke the spell. With a loud, relieved laugh, Arthur started to sit up. Alfred and Francis rose to their knees, staring at Arthur as though he was the Messiah.

"We're free!" Arthur declared. "We got out! We're _safe_!"

Alfred immediately burst into tears and threw his arms around Arthur. Since Alfred was hogging Arthur's entire body, Francis made do with grabbing Arthur's right hand in both of his and clinging to it tightly, as if he intended to never let it go again. They stayed like that for some time, nothing to disturb them: Arthur grinned so much his cheeks hurt; his sweater got soaked in Alfred's tears; Francis stared up at the stars. Despite his smile, Arthur spotted what had dripped on him – Francis's face and hands had deep cuts sliced into him, probably much like Arthur's own scratches from the hedge – only much deeper. Arthur had the feeling that Alfred was in much the same way. That realisation both sobered and exhausted him.

Everything was over. They had nothing to fear.

Beeping and chirping noises started up and Arthur gave a yell in fright, his heart hammering. Francis retracted one of his hands, though, and quickly soothed Arthur. "It's only our phones. We must be getting a signal now." He reached into his pocket and pulled his out.

"Great!" Alfred declared, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes. "We can call for... for..." He trailed off, obviously not sure who he should be phoning first.

"Someone to fix our cars," Arthur mumbled, tiredly. "Or one of them, at least."

"No," Francis answered them, already pressing the call button. "I'm calling for an ambulance. And the police, of course. We need to stop this happening to anyone else..."

"Wait..." Arthur began but he was too late. The operator answered Francis's call and he ignored both Arthur and Alfred to explain what he needed. Arthur's heart sank and he slumped against Alfred, letting the American hold him upright as they waited for someone to turn up.

He wasn't sure talking to the police was a good idea...

* * *

_"Hello. What's your name, son?" said a policeman who squatted down next to Arthur._

_Keeping his arms wrapped around his legs, Arthur turned his tear-stained face to the man. "Arthur Kirkland," he told him._

_"All right, Arthur. Could you tell me what happened inside the house?"_

_Nodding, Arthur launched into his explanation. As he continued, more tears fell and he hugged his knees more tightly. At one point, he broke down and cried for a while till he calmed down enough to go on, the policeman rubbing his back all the while. Finally, he described his escape and how he had almost been run over. When he finished, he looked up at the man, hoping to find comfort and someone who knew what to do._

_His eyes widened._

_It was clear the policeman didn't believe him._

_"All right, son," said the man, patting Arthur on the head. "I'm going to call your parents, get them to come up and get you. I'll find someone to sit with you, okay?"_

_Slowly, Arthur nodded, stunned that someone who could so easily save other people would dismiss what he had said..._

* * *

The red and blue lights were blinding after the darkness of the house. From his position at the back of an ambulance, Arthur watched both paramedics and police officers move to and fro as a young woman put the last touches to a patch of gauze she was attaching to his chin. She seemed to sense he didn't want to speak and didn't try to engage him.

Once she had left, Arthur pulled the blanket tighter around himself with his bandaged hands. He still wasn't quite willing to believe he'd made it out – and with two friend, no less! However, he was exhausted and he wasn't looking forward to the interrogation. The police had already been inside the house and, just like last time, they weren't locked inside or killed. They'd found the various bodies and forensic scientists were stalking around, taking pictures. Arthur had already had to endure pictures being taken of his wounds.

Glancing to his left, Arthur watched the patched up Francis and Alfred talking with the local sheriff and his deputy. At least, Arthur presumed he was a deputy. Both of them had their hands placed on their belts, within easy reach of their guns. And both of them were studying Alfred and Francis with strange expressions. Arthur recognised them.

Disbelief.

It was happening all over again. No-one would believe them. They'd contact his parents. He'd have to see a therapist. But, this time, they wouldn't be able to make him agree to forgetting. He was determined to remember.

But he didn't need to be believed.

Eyeing the police officers, he wished he didn't need to be interrogated. He didn't want to relive the past few hours. He didn't want to see his friends die in his mind's eye. He didn't want to hear phantom giggles. He didn't want to – couldn't – do this.

All Arthur wanted to do was go home.

All Arthur wanted to do was leave and never look back.

On the verge of panicking, Arthur wondered why he couldn't do just that. Clearly, Francis and Alfred were telling the police everything. His testimony wouldn't be any different. There was no need to make him repeat it. Why should he stick around?

Even though he hated what he was thinking of doing, Arthur knew that Francis and Alfred would be safe. After all, he wouldn't be with them to put them in danger. That's right: the _things_ could come back for him. He had to leave. And he had to leave now, before anyone noticed.

So he slipped from the ambulance and landed lightly on his feet, wincing a little at the pain in his ankles. Apparently, they were merely bruised: it felt much more painful than 'mere' bruising. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around him, Arthur waited until the red and blue lights had passed over him once. Then he darted into the shadows of a second ambulance, circling around. Finally, he made it to a clear patch of road and, orienting himself, he set off, back towards the crossroads they had passed earlier in the night.

The stars watched over his lonely trek as he slipped away. No-one noticed. And, finally, he was free.

As free as he could be with his memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!
> 
> Well. Kind of.
> 
> See, I decided ages ago that I'd make a sequel! So look out for Shadow House 2: The Reckoning being posted soon. Like, probably within a week. Happy early Halloween!


End file.
